Testimony
A poem. "Carnage as an art."
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I had my flirtations
With carnage as an art.
A racket snug in hand,
The leather braiding wrapped
And smooth along the grip,
Poised beside the shed
I’d ping carpenter bees
Out of the limpid air
As they angled for home.
Flukes. Fuzzed and armored
Amalgums, their curved eyes
Alien and dead-calm
Before the shattering
Crosswise backhand of fate.
And I felt numb as light
Or stone, standing upright
As if to testify
Against my own future.
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Pinging bees sounds like fun!