(for Mark)
In 1811 Shelley pronounced the Eucharist
cannibalistic and turned to a half-baked
vegetarian regime and full-flight doppelgangers.
Now it's the real late 20th C and when
one says, with filliping smirk, "Eat Me"
one is not talking even post-millennial
transubstantiation
but means while you digest that possibility
your humanoid protein wafer has already
levitated the proverbial coop trailing fin-de-siecle
vapors of aromatherapy and the auto-romance of
strategically pierced body parts.