“This aggression will not stand, man.”
Like the little down hawk
Pace-pacing the furrow
The neck and the penance
Markers
Blanched, whitewashed
To scarlet and be-beady-eyed
This is the way, the proffered hand
To the infernality
Realm of quick steak and precooked
Bacons.
Twist an eye and win. Wind.
There’s a rat. There’s a squirrel.
Each a subject of conquest.
The fur line of a closed eye
A twinkle down below
Behead.
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