ISSUE: Fall 2017
The lambs this year are dumb but lambs are dumb
their tiny brains archaic smiles humans to a lamb
are all the same all rams the same all ewes are mom
all milk is mine all lambs are me all blades of grass
a single blade of grass incapable of love unlike a pig
who aims to please who specifies who trots behind
as loyal as a dog and kisses like a dog its tongue
astonishingly soft who grieves when led away when
loaded up when walked into the marketplace who’d
die of grief if held too long to get to slaughter
weight nostalgic for the hills the mist the girl the battered
truck she pedaled to the barn the chickens who have no
self at all who yearn as one who peck the flat terrain
as one who rise as one and fall as one like rain
