The sheep follows the wolf
sobre valles & manchas
of the old world’s alfombra
al laundrymat. The oveja
sits there folds bragas
with patches of lana while
lobitos hide in unmatched piles
de ropa, su mamá ya civilizada
& without teats sin aullido,
untando her legs with jabón,
& lamiendo un bone.
You gotta know, esto es como es,
es es the world, asink pero bonito,
with all the ovejas aplastadas
until the only lobo with a hole
in her sock & a fang on her toe
es una veri sexi wolfita. Yo,
a pobre boba washing my clothes off,
digo: we need more wolves, más evil
as the linted good aches
& bleats bondades & bleats
while small asesinos unspool
& los vecinos se afeitan
with the golden rule.
Sus guts se blanquean & sad.
Sus guts se blanquean & sad.
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