This Sad Poetry Us

broken dogs. cut the dark. with heavy jaws and impotent barks. the hound is the obvious target. simple of resolve.

the mountains sigh. more weather than discipline. the world we make rebels. the fury of nature and the sting of absent gods. the lopsided arithmetic of lovers and friends.

as if that mud chose the footprint and was not randomly trod upon. the lure of blood diminished. by brighter colors. animals content with blood.

accusing the monsters doesn't suit her. she'd prefer just to let them to their war. would that she were deaf and could not hear. the screech of the bombs and the whisper of wounds.

the distance confounds. burnt matches. press. the abstract of man. focused by his scars.