A Buck Stares at Life
Why do you startle me with your black eyes
As if dusk has come early, twisting night
Around yourself like a ball of yarn? It’s day
Despite your death and the hour continues on
As if you had lived. The gore across your mouth
Reflects the glare of a high sun behind
Retreating clouds and reminds one of girls’
Lipstick that fleshes the mouth’s longing smile.
With your bruised coat and squeezed ribs, where’s your pride?
The gravel must have swallowed it, becoming
As full as the forest ground with creeping things
And the eaten sockets blind by wormy breath.
Harsh noises swept you from the street and cracked
Your crown of horns against the median strip,
Away from the tortuous and wooded verdant trail
Into the lunch of maggots and chipped concrete.
-published in The Chaffin Journal and All Aboard the Timesphere