The Sheds

My antlers are not right
they are twisted they are not right
they are growing too fast
soon they will twist and twist together and grow straight up 
what a sight a boy with antlers and a shaven face 
an antler tower I will be easy to catch 

I cannot run through the woods 
the branches are too low
will knock me over 
I am a trophy 
I am hunted
I am valuable 

they will take my tower they will 
cut the structure from its foundation and caress the bone 
they will carve figurines 
from my tower they will make little boys 

rifles of bone to twist more bodies and their children will
play and forget this body sinking

into the ground now
they have their tower and their miniatures will soon kill
their own ossified prey

my antlers are still not right 
I am gone and I am not 

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