THE LYNX
That black cat, I spy - he licks the puppet all over.
The fox’s red fur feels not the imposition nor
the puppetmaster’s paw, but the red fox,
my prey, feels the crunch of its bones, insanity bleeds,
after the toilsome run from my teeth.
My teeth chatter, cold and cruel, terribly hungry
to rip up a carcass, to...
Continue reading...