there is nothing sacred about the child
limbs pudgy and limp as the sauces it feeds on
there is nothing blameless about the child
wheels calculating the perfect point to scream
there is nothing fated about the child
free to crawl or walk where it pleases
there is nothing aimless about the child
the tilting the head in the right directions
there is nothing sacred about the child
but no one is born without gravity

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