Blood Is Not Blond Enough

Very scary, the work of instruments

splicing body parts. Some purpose,

hinged to a nest of other, plies

the unskilled trade-off forever

blemishing beneathment needed

solipsistically un-round as scrawny

cattle mild-faced and left 

in the field. We are not in-

tended to live alone. The lone

plump admission that outer

bounty maybe beauty, maybe

not. How do we chart desire 

for centered wholeness as shoals

drawn to shallows batch and hatch.