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In false quiet, the doe's ears flop about
a snout deep in wild berry bushes
safeguarded by the spring's pollen mask

a bloodluster smirks
pointing the barrel of a rifle
daydreaming of velvety meats
bringing home victory

the gun cracking it's beads of death
repeatedly in a swarm

it ricochets- boomeranging back
at him, breaking bone
slitting his rotten gut open

the meat comes falling out
a cascade of devilish desires.

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