She lies
Prostrate on the wild
Goose chaise longue
The ruttish smell of Bromine
From the brown wallpaper
Lingers and burns the nose
She is wailing like a goat
Being sharply gutted
And I don’t eat goat
The lamb the sheep
The cow the calf
But I do not eat goat
The lonely animal
Climbing the peaks
A totem on the single mount
The bleat from the chair
As she drinks from a glass shofar
Is a carving out of her space
I move toward the door
