The Hunter

They say she is the mother of invention.
Tonight, she is my mother
and the mother of creation.

In some respects, my brother
is the unused wilderness surrounding my perfect
eyes and earth. Why bother

with that which cannot be wrecked?
I see a dissimilitude.
There be a stark moment of checked

gut and desire. My eyes understood
while my lips, quivering, dripped
in synchronicity with my mood.

My ego, no longer strapped and shipped
to the branches of my mind,
connect to the deer-blood crypt

I long to be in. It is there I can find
the finely beating heart of desire.
I level my arrow, search for the blind

side and let loose my trusted flyer.
Tonight I shall dine by the fire.


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