Relapse of animal sorrow;
the hide of a noble beast burned as it slept
on a campfire lit indoors.
The bang of salvation rounds struck
its right shoulder from behind; .44 magnum,
The gunshots did not kill. By morning
the campfire died out. The rug
The noble beast tried to peel its own hide away,
charred tight over biceps. A fissuring and brittle
And hooves were no use.
And tusks were no use.
Making eye contact is not helping
as it bit the air without sound
taking up half the room
A malignant briquette grew cavities in teeth marks
My cavalry retinas. My open cage. My dispersed resolve
My almost-sleep. My almost-dream. My wet smallpox blankets
A tumor waking to the side. The slowly vanishing pillow
Befriend a mastodon’s ghost— Wash a stone spectre
Barbacoa indoors. No eyelashes left on adhesive
Slowly vanishing indentations. Interior barbacoa perspectives
One place setting. One fork, one knife
Fork on the left. Knife on the right