Ok you. You hit the deer before me.
Not that I would be surprised,
Even as tightly clustered
As we are, if the deer
Tried to run between us.
Life has torn this planet.
Bones are everywhere,
Even the bones of phrases,
Ghosts of conversations
Between animals determined
Not to become ghosts ourselves.
Your vehicle singing counter tenor,
Your vehicle full of replicating
Whispers, radio voices fading
Back to me. White blood sports moonlight.
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