Rearing Bulls

A messy birth:

Strings of blood unwind,

and bag-like, a calf

drops to the mother-ground.


The cooing, brown cow

licked away the blood

and licked it up to stand

on its spindly, stick-legs.


The cow-calf grazes

as the meadow whispers:

"Remember me – the emerald lattice

of protein in your bones."


The mother-cow frowns,

leather hanging in wrinkles,

as she feeds the calf

with her own liquid flesh.


The Sun boasts of its heat

to the cow's bread-like warmth.

The farm and the animal

fighting for mother rights.


Who has reared this

crying child into a silent one?

The Bull's eye-veins bulge,

and his skin is devil red.


The farm and the cow both

look upon their distant mirror:

his hooves break spines and

his horns impale virtue,

Anger disregarding its origin.