my dear,
shoot this damn duck right outta the sky—
who gives a flying fuck?
pluck its pearly white feathers
of innocent childhood love,
wring its meek neck.
kiss its frigid lips,
what game!
divide up its mealy meat—
and save it for the long cold winter months,
when you miss the fleeting warmth
of its tender skin,
the dying light in its eyes—
oh dear,
when’d you start hunting for sport?
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