A Wild, Shameless Plain

Old black tusks ripped off of the beast at the bank of the swamp

And carved into statues of arthritic gods

Or the handles of blunt swords that you'll one day ruin upon,

With your eyes covered in moss.

Shot down in its sleep,

The big game of the world wide garbage heap.

You mounted its head on your wall. The prize?

Hollowed out eyes, mold in the cracks of its skull.

The fur is matted with blood

and its tongue wet with mother's milk.

.

The gates opened wide and bedlam came.

Wise men were forced into a layman's trade.

With nothing but time, chaos reigns.

A great quiet has followed you to here.

A blustering wind with nothing of worth in its heart or hands.

Your legacy is a dull catalogue of common things

You've never even seen the blood you've drawn

Or looked in the eyes of the kill you claim was yours

Before taking your picture with it.

.