The Clamor of the Lambs
Clarice may, or may not, be hearing
The silence of the lambs, these days,
Yet I can assure you,
I still listen for any bleat
They make throughout the night.
And like her, I would save them—
If only I were able.
However, I require my sleep,
And other dreams, even more terrifying,
Compel me to take medication,
Placing me in the deep zone—
Halfway between a heaven and hell
I am forced to imagine.
Ah, yes, but, dear, sweet Clarice…
What has fate prepared for her?
Is she condemned to chase criminals
Across crooked lines the FBI has drawn,
Merely to capture Public Enemy #1?
Perhaps, it would be better
If she simply returned to Montana
And made penance with the flock;
It might do wonders for her soul.
As for me, I also need a break—
Miles away from all the clamor
My mind finds to spook me.
Now, the lambs are sheep—
Far too plentiful to count.
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