9 September 2022
My fingers are crossed,
somethings to go easier,
or something to not
A hundred words related to predation. Man eat man, dog eat dog, hawk eat hawk, roiling, broiling a mouse lost behind the garbage can. Claws retracted for pleasure. Play time remains off limits. Strolling through the bunch grass to find coyote scat distributed non-randomly. The rabbits are hunched beneath. I ain’t ready. Bird on the wire. Shark attack. Octopus wisely wrapping wrecked. Share our last breath. Death on the wing. Hovering hunting horrid hovels. Brothels stirring beds of mal-intent with bugs that embed. Running across the ice pursued by a mass of flying glass with shadows of yellow and grunting.
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