the winter anthology
Vol. 14
Douglas Kearney
minotaur
after Carl Phillips
The best part,
how we make to
part the beast
from its self.
Take the bull
(whose head it’s got.
Now, conjure you—
the offal, bovine throat,
a veiny tract meant
for an alfalfa pasture,
clover, sundry grasses
soon to cud; or
a garden got at: trampled
angel’s breath, marigold,
daisy, rose, chomped down,
also, though, grown, only,
it seems, to prune to mean
a human being
what humans are—
and there: a tendril
coils from your skull,
then petals split
the temple, come
to bloom. See, how
now the bull face,
stricken, blinks),
finding a way,
reeling, through new
bewildering appetites.