The Elect

Every several years, about one third

of the people go into the temple and

exsanguinate a bull upon the sand,

release an auguring flock of city birds,

divine the numerology of words,

each predetermined cry of pleasure planned

to simulate a state of utter aband-

on; past the city gates the shepherds herd

their flocks; they are as young as the gods appear,

as beautiful, and like the gods they do

not care for the rites; they’d rather truly fuck,

drink, breath, walk, live, sleep, and hear

their own singing voices than what should be true

according to the augurs. They believe in luck.