Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Unreal Tournament

Stump pinks flutter.

Spiral tail’d,

Squeals of Pork echo.


The game thrown open,

gunshots and ricochets,

bursts of blood and rain.

The pinks flutter,

descend in a gyre.


Pigeons unleashed,

Salivating- they rocket

To where the gyre

ends in a thud.

-Cooing, they retrieve.


“Meat!” the decadent gamers cry.

It’s a take away.

Their wives howl back at home,

at wolves that wait patiently

For the gamers’

colonial return.