I’m sorry about how I call you like a lost lamb
cut from the mother tongue
I’m sorry fuh these parts,
stretched out like an open womb
laid bare like Eve.
don’t mean to show that
You’re a tonic
a panacea out among the gallows
striking when you deem the time ripe
a rough cut slathered o’er the brine
Brilliant, twinkling, shallow
Mud on my name, on the flat cake.
Scratched from Hosanna’s sprained foot
raging across the plains
splat, Spartan down, right tried to do it
failed, splutching through the pink.
