Can your words find the color
and smell of a manslaughter
in an unholy stampede?

Head bowed, the handcuffed activism
walks on the street. Now pops
up the moon from forficated clouds.

A decoy was sitting on a tree
with a stunning gaze
to watch the lewd behavior ―

of a mirror engaged with a
self-portrait. Alphabetically
the breast milk spills ―

before you arrive without
mouth. A celebration
starts today for an unborn.