The Bear- Galway Kinnell
This is a pastoral improv where I wanted to use the phrase "sopped turd."
In lung-colored transcendence,
a parabola belches blubber
and old snow, a tentative ravine
in what should have been his thigh.
The bear knives a hulk,
odor something only whittled
by gashes and resting places.
Steam endures blood and whatever
Marshlights shine on: a dam-bear,
or a sopped turd.
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