Slumped over the back of a horse
great knots in a tourniquet of hair at twelve years old
the cupid arrow hilt to mother and foal
willing to be bitten and pass the feelings course

Dragging the slit an incredible feat of inches
through pastel effigies on the underwear grown
with stains of burned blood resembling lone
figures trudging through ditches

Or a noble’s distorted portrait
though mother scrubs at the still persistent shadow
his crusted nose to the coral summit
as daughter rubs along the guest room pillow

A discontented starling flits one eye at a time
to get the picture whole, to be given mine


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