Resentments sitting content

Happy in my blindspot

Loading up on buckshot.

Dropping their illusions

Descending around

This fragile ground.

Saying brutal things

With crepuscular scent

That make me lament.

“Did you gargle with haggis?

You smell like entrails and fear

And your end is near.”

Can you give me words

To silence these birds of prey

And render them but clay?

– Vagabond Prophet