Execution of the Lamb

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A baby, wrapped in bleeding cloth.
The brain bone is soft like wet rope.
Curled there, blue as decomposing lilies,
she waits, still.
The scalpel has ripped away all of her
broken smallness.
Once I’ve dreamed of her in pink lace
with ribbons in her hair,
carrying a bear.
In this bed where people and love die,
though not in that order,
I watch the nurses suck my urine dry.
They suck the blood from me.
The only promise I have left of you
is the blood, the bed of red.
I am an empty hive.
The syrup has turned to black shit.
There is nothing I can do for her.
I could hold her frame to my chest,
to jump-start the heart with mine.
and watch it go, go, go…
please, go?
please.
please, beat!
They take her away in the cloth
to be thrown away with hazardous material-
with bile and waste.

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