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We’ve tuned our thimbles
to some ungulate on a lawn.

Something has stirred the
warren, some sect is rising.

We feel it populating, we
feel the ungulate aching.

Are we arranged right?  
Mayor says probably just

rabbits riffling the prairie.
Still, he calls the tomboys

who found that calf
on her side by the sluice. 

She’d been exsanguinated
and cleaned, her udders 

snipped like cactus fruits.
Aliens come to Abilene,

take box elder and bluestem,
then drain the calves. Clabe

Merchant woke one morning
to find he’d divorced his wife.

He got up and baptized
his lawn, and Sheriff said

what’s municipal is allowed.
Take two cottontails and go.