father is everything but a good snake
charmer. tell me, do you see only that
shiver in the hands and not the restless
animal steadied into a hole? in the fog
a wounded lamb limps. half of the sun
cobwebbed with clouds by cave spiders.
my tongue is a small sponge of vinegar.
and teeth, spittle-washed stalagmite. lip,
thick slab sealing the tomb endowed to
to the son in perpetuity. the lamb would
be un-swallowed after three days & three
nights of indigestion. the tomb’s gizzard
dulled— the cud bruised but alive! those
bitemarks are visible from the cold nails.
like the lamb i want to herd my own
flock. but father shears his wool with his
own teeth and split his hooves into claws.
the smoothness reveals a see-through wolf
throbbing beneath. father rubs honey for
ointment and palm oil for turning. the pro
-verb sets the wolf either free or on fire.
like me, the lamb is the father of the man.