War and hunting wear the same clothes,
The sort that stick out anywhere
Except a wilderness distance
Where the motion of the hunter
Armed with death-dealing projectiles
Blurs against the backdrop of life.
Our ancestors began to learn
To throw wicked points at targets
And then began to learn to fade
To depth perception precisely
Equivalent to the killing
Range of whatever hurt they threw.
Get up close on us feeling fierce,
We're blatantly ridiculous.
But at the edge we disappear,
Fresh angels in the endless fight
To acquire or deceive a world
Tattooing night with pointed lights.
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