bitten antler. this is a scene
every bit as lighthearted as

             any other myth. i am mass-
             producing fairytales

in a cold garage. wait
for the magic to set in:

             sickly hues moaning
             blues and bright yellows.

the first shadow rises
like a deer from sour dough;

             arched spine dipping a body
             into a still lake,

lungs breathing the identical
air prescribed by natural order.

              by evolution, a second chance
              can always be bargained for.

could say disease. birds
singing face-down

              on a dry conveyor belt:
              slaughterhouse, dear.

reminds me of false hypotheses
and compounds that when

              bonded, convey desire.
              submergence is the finest

act of artistry. a tear in the
dawn. this is the severity,

              the aftermath; not quite a finale.
              call the silence a home and it

will become one. this
is the farthest the trail

              will take you. i remember paradise:
              blood-lipped the same way

i tossed a stag head into artificial
forest fire. its sagging eyes

              stared at me, at the same hands
              quietly choking a mechanical finch.

 

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