Slouching Toward Bethlehem, Pennsylvania
Martine Bigos
*(A Revision of "Talk") i. The Gytrash Roaming down a lane in early morn, An unknown figure comes into our sight. Just as our suspicions start to form, Its eager tendons canter toward the light. Vile as a child free from hate, With soul and gleaming fur, we grasp relief. Instinct ought to hold a greater weight Because its gentle nature was but brief. Little can offset its fervid aim. Its claws are hollowed in the softened ground. Promises have set us all aflame With impulse to enlist, or flee the hounds.
Jane is nothing less that unarmed when
The varmint’s disguised as one’s closest friend.
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