I found three
quarters
in a child proof crib
the smell
like new stove.
brought back
nostalgia.
buckshot in a rifle
some fawn
guts on the end
of a
shapeless
knife.
we put its greasy
hide
in the back
ears smooth
atop
nylon seats.
I remember.
you said
eat
a slice
uncooked
so we did.
christ cried
over the hunt.
smells of
liver
rotting in
the shed.
even the eyes
look out
when I sleep.
torn of
fur
slab-like
and inflexible
brown.
the gun sat
silver
with untrust
adjacent
a small kitchen
stool
like a babies
crypt.
you stuck the
corpse
for ten minutes
in celery
I have trails
of meat
under both
shoes
even now.
I remember
too much.
Gold trophy winner
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