Momma, are there other wooden children?
Momma, am I your only wooden child?
The others, momma, are they more alive?
Do the meat children offer you their hearts?
Momma, you know I have no heart to give,
but I have given you axes, and chainsaws,
and I've said you could cut off my limbs,
you could take me down to timbers, momma.
Chop me down, momma, and I'll give you my stars.
Why momma, why, do I still have my sky?
Oh momma cut me down, or I'll grow wild.
Momma cut me down, if you won't come again,
I have no love, I have no love for the wren.
forthchoming in KGB Lit