That the Eucharist's entelechy self-cannibalise its Flesh-making Word
Was the protai ousiai of my post-colonial, diasporic, herd
Till, for the Gita, fucking Geats got wood- a Cross Hylomorphic
For Krishna is the Eurydice of a song wholly Orphic.
Envoi-
Peace hath a Prince! but, for, forever, born in but the 'house of bread'
What is holy and pure is an Ariadne who breaks her own thread.
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