duck finds the wind
the hunter,
his gun

we could call this enchantment
but with every gasp of flight
comes one less starved night

i grip the gill, the lung,
i harvest
just to fend off
the hunger

when did this become

i watch the slaughter house remains
ground down for the dogs—

i see the cow, looking out the
back panel—
she is screaming with her eyes, this is
haunting me

i feed them, those warm brown eyes,to my dogs

i move on
i move on

let me done my hazmat suit—
the threshing floors are
decontamination rooms
littered in flaking flesh

rubbed raw
we all wonder,
why our guts are bleeding?

load the barrel
aim it sure
worry not
the pharmaceuticals will have
your cherry-flavoured death harvest cure


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