To the bone

somewhere floating in the ether of souls there is

another us

Without the inevitable entrapment of self-preservation

-The pig mom and the human child

I use my truncated vocal apparatus 

 to try to warn you you are

– not safe here

among the scientists

With their crisp white coats and syllogistic rejoinders

They count pieces of us

Placing animal in one

category 

and the human in another

Bone-bone-bone-

Spleen-heart-cornea-

Never question whether we can

see color or 

Feel pain 

Confined instead to

Diminished souls jarred by

All the words for

monster