a novelty of the hunt

the wolves are circling

my wounded doe heart

there’s exit strategies laced in the veins

of the withering autumn leaves

that I’m too weak to decipher, somehow

a hostage to the pack

tragic captive fauna

with unapologetic crossbow scars

who rebelled against the false bottom

of my forests floor

a miserable shelter

now a fate inevitable

instinct accelerant and adrenaline

 delusions of gnashing teeth

stalked in revolution

they seem to revel in the scent

of my vulnerability

a novelty of the hunt, perhaps

my last words

everything and nothing

all at once

“for freedom.”

a. duncan, 2017

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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