Fight

 RED drips from my chin where I have been eating.

Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth.


Clots of red mess my hair
And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.


I was a killer.

Yes, I am a killer.


I come from killing.

I go to more.

I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.

Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juices
of my inside bones:
The child cries for a suck mother and I cry for war.

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