The wounded cow lay down...

Trees and streams climbing over its 
wounded body,
Its muzzles bled in the sky.

Its muzzle of bees,
its muzzle of screaming peoples
under the slow must-ache of slobber.
A gunfire brought the morning to its feet.

Cows or people, dead or alive,
blushing light or
honey from the...
bellowed with half-closed eyes.

Tell the roots
and that child sharpening his knife:
now they can eat the cow...