Bestiary for the End Times

The Hunted
I dreamed I was hunted
trembling in my sack of cotton cloth
the city ranged around me
its buildings cold cement bones
antenna clustered listening
I, the hunted, too animal to host a thought
the barrel leveled the eye boring the breath stopped
I was the hunted I was
a bloated bull calf in a dim shambles
cold chains on my neck
inhuman buzz in my ears blood in hot streams
around my hocks steaming stinging
my nose and lips, no grass in sight
my bones turned heavy my throat open
to the metal mothering blade
I dreamed I was hunted
the frozen ocean of ochre hematite around me
in the froth of my screaming
the awful cries the howling wake
sky blackened with terns the blank albatross
of the sun blocking passage away
from the walls of my eyes collapsed into smoke
the ancients in my being driven back to mud and dust
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