1. And when she doesn’t ask for a diagnosis
of her sheepbrain, draw a diagram of it with all the
edges hued in muddy gray, tell her she’s gonna get so
fat & fit for slaughter, her meaty heart will leak into a
skeleton fruit ripe enough to gnaw on, her minuscule
girlego so tasty it gives cataracts, makes the unsatiable
go baa & blind on her bone marrow
2. she so desperately desires a
herding                                 keen for a dissection of her
gray watered encephalon               she wants to
            be led        by the neck into limbo     lose her lithe face
to a gust of desolate didactic hopeless dreams
3.                                                            watch her walk into
her own shadow & get caught in the unearthed
darkness unfelting from it, she knows nonsense yet
memorized the back of her sheephands                 its
warm fur smoking, so much easier to digest her
rolled up into something suspended & breezy
                     she’s so painless to stomach
                     in small airy sheep doses,
                    count her vapor to sleep,`
                    watch her baa into a lull
                    filled daze of pretty little
                    euphemisms                     bleating
for her mother’s scent bloodless & bound to a
skeletal grave                bones bleached for silver-
ware                               she memorized the back of
her sheephand because it is in constant mourning
her human mother                                             not
                            dead but ghosting out her cuticles
4.  she was groomed by her infantile father’s
psyche       taught to herd it into her mournful fingers
cradle the misunderstood trauma Narcissus left for
feed                         she’s been ingesting it so long her
innards sound like his laughter belching from her
trachea
5. graphite her with her sheepskin shedding
into a fleshed-out mass of fur let her name it girl
let her herd it into her tiny sheepheart             she’s never
owned anything but weightlessness & lungs primed
to scream