baby in a broken sling
they clip my wings:
hard.
fly to me
things cry
like they're two weeks old
and
somehow
you are that lack
of air
within my lungs:
a flu on time.
and i miss you.
baby,
i miss it.
i am hoarse and
things don't look the same
they shaved
all those manes
off of their heads
the pretty horses
raise their paws
they prance
all over my heart
and
they don't even
know
what it looks like.
baby,
i miss you.
young things
are born
without you.
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