the binding

i want to be your ram.
cut me into parcels of meat 
& pixel. the sky is a screen saver.
refresh me until i spin. 
my father used to take my down
to the creek & raise a butcher's knife
over my head. he told me it was 
a dove. i see birds as weapons.
the altar in my house gallops 
across the floor.
we wrestle for holiness 
in the midnight's simmer. 
i can tie myself up like 
a package or a promise. i make
a great sacrifice. i won't even
scream. the lord is typing 
in his study on the lead type-writer.
he's pounding out promises
& particulars the day to come.
we bought hand cuffs 
from the dollar store. grey plastic.
swallowed the keys & ran off
into the wild woods without hands.
my father wore binoculars 
around his neck to keep tabs 
on his livestock. a boy is a kind
of mosaic. the trees turning 
to cord & rope. rope tangling us.
us, the little pairs of legs.
often the sun is the biggest
betrayer, painting all your secrets
in light. father glimpses us
as we found hollows to store
our hooves in. called us back
with a push of a red button.
the siren was a girl twisted tight. 
he never kept the knives in the drawer,
he laid them out on display 
from smallest to largest. i wanted
to lay down between the knives.
i want to be your ram. i already know
where my body will come apart.
i'll show you were & how to dismantle
if you tell me i was a good animal
& i tried my best to plug in. 
kiss the static from my eyes.
i want to be your beautiful viral.
there's no such thing 
as sons. 

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