In my mind there are the hooves of horses
Thundering against the ground
The flinch of predatory eyes
Criticizing some familiar landscape
As a hailstorm
On some freezing night
pelting down against the earth
in hateful ribbons
I fell them in our ancient ways
warhammer in hand, claymore coming down
we drive them to the slaughter
patiently
in a conquest where the blade of my mind
is filed against the stone of my soul
there is something magnificent yet empty
in the inertia of our agency
in the wood-grain texture
as hard ripples of development through time
Why are we like this?
Why are we such hungry birds?
juxtaposibly Insatiable
As chicks in a nest, as raptors on the horizon.
ravens to the aftermath
of that which we were born to create
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