Nurse


On a makeshift table, rosy
pink as the heart of an albino
lies a cleft pig's foot:
The razor-sharp scalpel in
your blue-gloved hand turns
the tender shoot to hardened
reed--
As if
the gurgling song trapped in a bird's
throat were the culprit of my love, you
make the incision,
perform the neutering...
Now,
like a pot-bellied bullfrog with
miniature tubas lodged in its chest,
I feed on crickets who claim their
chirping
and I have words
on my tongue
no
m
o
r
e
.
.
.

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