A buzzard dancing
in a field,
bone in claw
clicking,
picking further
cannot be real,
in foaming masks
of blood
he basks
A death of beauty
as ether flies,
the buzzards watch
as spirit denies,
a lasting breath
right to last,
and his appetite
grows vast
All to survive
watching
the weak,
awaiting
their date,
death is fleeting but
supper is made,
magnolia leaves
are floating to bay,
this conundrum of dreams
but who’s to say
A Native with
the...
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