My hands at the throat of a concrete slab.
My nails in the chest of a stagnant mosquito bed.
My feet treading in the blood of a stale, coagulated and settled polycarbonate thermoplastic pane—tinted.
have been rent—
for they’ve been mistaken for scrap.
jettisoned into the jaws of a devil—
dripping skins into mud gutters.
strengthen my sheep,
to raise my ram.
meat, lackluster (and pus-filled I guess)—
vile and burnt.
dead cells in nails
in negligent spells of
may thine eyes
subsequent to sailing ewes’