hamburger praying

as far as take out goes i am the grease
on the bag. on the stoop a diamond of meat
asks to be fathered on into a taste.
at the snack shack we dipped our fingers
in honey mustard & dropped single fries
to watch the scent summon the sturdiest ants
we'd ever seen. at church everything is void
of hamburger. when you think about it,
all meat was once running away. all the cows 
attend a separate sunday school to learn
how to have useful deaths. i want to have
a useful death. once we bought half a cow
& piled her in the freezer. opened the lid
to see her singing hymns in foggy fragments.
does everyone deserve a god? only humans believe
in purpose like this. the cows, they think only
of their huge hearts & the wild sun &
the possiblity of rain. all those corn field roads
i won't be taking again now that i let 
the city drink my star light. there's always
tension between the here & the almost here.
if i eat just this one chapel, do i swallow
the mass too? all the shuffle of hooves.
once we stood on all fours & prayed 
for lettuce. my mother takes her spatual 
& waves at a passing biplane. no one knows
how to begin devouring. we put pickles
over our eyes & take a family portrait.
i haven't eaten meat in years but often
the taste will arrive to me phantom like 
& needy. it says, "you were blood too."
my muscles all want to be ground & edible. 
sweating in the sink. washing my forehead.
i'm the ripe tomato & the holy ghost.