good sheep

i would love to have two stomachs
instead of just one useless one. 
then i could put all my fears
in the first stomach & the second
could just go wild with all the dandelions.
sometimes i wake up with hooves. sometimes
the day shears me down to my pale flesh
& i have to look at the wool. 
snakes shed their skin themselves. no me.
i need blades. i need to be held by the legs. 
often it is a lover who offers to do this for me.
lately i have tried to do it myself. 
i fade in & out of reality. there is a piece of me
in the sun's eye & a piece of me raining just
over my childhood home. 
in the wild sheep turn into clouds
after a certain number of years
without a shepherd to tend them. 
on my worst days i look up & consider
becoming a shape a little girl points to & says,
"that looks like a face." i graze. 
once my grandmother said, "black sheep"
& i thought it was my name. i got
on all fours in the courtyard 
of the apartment complex. i ate as many weeds
as i could. she smoked. she lived alone
with cats which are just sheep who escaped
becoming clouds. you pet my head.
it is dark & the moon has just died. 
you open up a bag of lettuce & we eat it
like potato chips. i ask if you can shear me.
please please please. i want to see 
the weight of the year as a pile of knots. 
you tell me, sadly, "but you only have skin."