Deer Hunting Poems

*I’m reposting my hunting poems those readers who have requested them.*building the blindI use your eyesand think as you. I see the old placeas newtreading familiar pathwayscarefully leaving no traceno scent of my presencein our shared territorystepping back breathing it inobserving the executionof your ancient habitscomprehending the logicof your journeysand the reasons whyyou movefinding your shapes pressed in the grasswhere your kind haltsbefore stepping over the break in the rusted wirewhere you scrape the soft earthwhere you pass and have passedfor milleniayour prints still freshthe raw rubbed treesall the feral signs of your dangerous life.you are drawn hereby the fallen chestnutsthe white oak acornswhere the autumn sunwarms the sideof the southern hillwhere you hide at noonby the quenching waterwaythe cool places whereI spot you beneath the moonthe old paths converge herein this enfolding valley.this is whereI’m building the blindon the earthen dam above the small stream behind two treesI tie branchesto brambleslay a cover of twigsdrape brown grasslevel a spot.when I returnI’ll sit for hourswatch the frost evaporateadmire the morning mistnote the insistenceof the woodpeckerand wait for the flashing instantI end your numbered days.this ineffable special placeis not so uniqueeach foot of living earthis after alla place for dying.*whitetailfour million yearsmoving through this hidden placeit has always been yoursbut I share your secret nowdeep in your bloodyou know it by heartand your heart is my targetyou’re everywhere these barren dayssex-crazedleaving traces on hard ground, on treesmaking mistakesshowing yourself is your fatal flawyou’re giving yourself awayand you don’t know thatyou can not help yourself I understand this behaviorin my own flawed heartsensing mein your spaceI sense you in mineyou’ll die hereas will I one daybut you are more beautiful than Ithis is why you will be the firstto die*running, bleedingblood’s flying out of you like a flock of red birdsfreed up from pressured spacesyou’re weakening nowrunning for your lifeas life leaves youmarking the trees with inner scentthe dry woods soaked redleaf and root will grow anewwarmed and fed by your passyour deer heart, unawarecontinues beatingpumping out your life as if you are the world but you are not the worldyou are yourselfand you are dyingyour bright tail signals surrenderI’ll make this up to youthis beautiful murderyou will continue onwithin me*Words by TFD

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