Let me tell it, the dialogue shows not only the fathers desperation to tell the story but serves to show the father attempting to exert his control over the son, demanding the son to allow him to tell his story. That is, out deaths are fed that we may continue our daily dying, our bodies going down, while the plates-soon-empty are passed around, that true direction of our true prayers, while the butcher spells his message, manifold, in the mortal air.
A few words about the poet before we get to the poem appreciation. You love the spider story. What then may I do but cleave to what cleaves me. I would eat this head, glazed in pepper-speckled sauce, the cooked eyes opaque in their sockets.
The poem is written in 3rd person, allowing the reader to look in rather place themselves in the roles of the father or the son, the choosing to write in the 3 rd person allows the reader to better develop their own opinions or feelings toward the characters rather than thinking from the mind of a desperate father or a disappointed son.
But the needle pierces clean through with each stroke of his hand.
And I would eat Emerson, his transparent soul, his soporific transcendence. We are reminded that this emotional connection between a father and a son is an earthly one that cannot be entirely explained or understood by means of logic or theology.
He coaxes, cleaves, brings change before our very eyes, and at every moment of our being. The noise the body makes when the body meets the soul over the soul's ocean and penumbra is the old sound of up-and-down, in-and-out, a lump of muscle chug-chugging blood into the ear; a lover's heart-shaped tongue; flesh rocking flesh until flesh comes; the butcher working at his block and blade to marry their shapes by violence and time; an engine crossing, re-crossing salt water, hauling immigrants and the junk of the poor.
Was it me in the other I loved when I loved another?
Change resides in the embrace of the effaced and the effacer, in the covenant of the opened and the opener; the axe accomplishes it on the soul's axis. What is it in me would devour the world to utter it?