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