Tails on the cattle are
busy with insects, but
I saw happy wags and
love, bovine care, passion,

while sicking myself from
murdering a bird, the pain
glued to the radiators

in my stomach, and Harry,
he shook her, snapped her
neck and what choice

did I have, her last swallows
of universe, shouting me down
in heart stop time, as I may

not eat steak, as like
a vicious crow, I dive
back to my nest, waiting for

a shovel to end me.
Too, so soon, too.