I drive past calfs playing in the field
every day: so, very-sorry-feel. Ache
the color of bruise swells in my
throat, an aura of purple
behind my eyes, presses as though I should always wear black
& earlier I'm dangling my legs from a branch
in an orchard on a planet I hum
a bright song that goes sour in my
mouth: no candy to fix
this feeling I can not name & those
cows get me
by heart every time I am so utterly
more human than most-- ears tagged
yellow tags murder
yet still they lay calm on grasspatch
beneath sky. It is the roundness
of their eyes letting in all the world.
It is what cuts short
their promised-by-God days. A truck
ride
and they scream bloody I have heard. If
only it were different here, if only
we'd ask nothing of them & let them
lay with the lonely girls when it's cold.
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