Hubristling

3 12 2008

The caustic shroud hangs aloud

The bitter pill, fairly shrill

The look of malice needs no eyes to see its prey,

And canceled mercy redoubles the guilt.

While the wolf-hunter receives a pardon

The wolf knows only instinct

Padding forth into the frigid forest

He seeks the soluble flesh of everything

For anything will not do on this night;

Man cometh to take what Injun Joe has not tied down

To tie himself to Joseph forever, silent and steady,

But the pain can never leave

As its presence is the strident balm for even the deafly injured

And its nature, one of chastening

Despite the son’s churlish cries,

In Lamu.

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