Lamb Body

I am the weakest lamb. 

 

             bleating

I am the

             bleeding

 

residue of what world

could soon be.

 

What use are the meek?

Their words cannot dull a blade,

unsplit sinew from bone.

 

Cannot uncast the stone

or hold a body’s tears 

with their unmarked faces.

 

Pasture me—splayed 

hoof, lynx jaw, clover chewed to root—and I

might bleed into being.

 

I examine my own body

like a butcher: a pound

of this flesh

will bring no

 

 

great price.