Looking around for a loop of light,
a captive throws out his
trove of litter and asks for a
right to be killed.
This was question hour
of your conscience. Who would
now act as an executioner?
Anybody who has not stolen a glance?
You are standing alone with
the rats. The hips were exploding.
Owls will assemble later on
to mourn the death of a native giant.
Under a yellow moon I had met him
once. He had promised to talk about
sexual encounters with nameless
ghosts under the waterfalls.