Femurs and fibias
appendage of trees
Stuffed into holes
Strung up
A chain gang
It is hard to pass through
even for me
small with appose
able thumbs
Still the nomadic
chewers of cud strip
a neck length bare

They’re trying to
stop up the
ebb and the flow
Put an end to where
teeth and tail meet
Make it all
statutes, angles
and lines define
what our lives mean
with π

You can’t use depth
or perception
to stop them
No longer is reason
in vogue
But I’ve got a seed
in the crease
of my pocket
and the deed
the sun
of the moon

© Abby Smith, Writer 2013