last year they started sculpting these tigers from blistered light.
all cauterized no difference between static display & mother’s pores
under our feet when you tread on her ground. mother bites back
& I keep waking orange & blue & never white.
at first
it was just a golden deer with two heads lifting
its dappled crowns & opening its two mouths to show
three rows of triangle teeth. & we were screaming all sickly
chartreuse & rose-ringed, beak-locked, shifting in place, singed
pinkbrown scars & feral & unspeaking in exhibit, singing
separation in exile & one voice above it all for when the earth opens
its abyssal maw & swallows brown cowgirl poet outlaw
🦌🌧️