from see you in hell—suckers

Hunter-blood cannot be vegetarian. Genes be willing, I tried, one year, I did. It was
the likeness of my father in lace. There were these hippies, pack-like they surrounded
me. Them—their knotted hair, hair on their everywhere. For some reason they are
hairy. I was vulnerable to their ways—therefore that year. Now, ravenous to regain
time lost, I eat hippies by the handful.