a piece from a forgotten wip (need to get back to it)

She called him a true
bastard. A true selfish
bastard. She raised her hand
as if to claw him but she did not limit
her weaponry to the one hand but then had
both hands raised as if to claw
and he could see her sneering beak
appear as though her father had been

an eagle and she could summon his genes
to give her the face of an eagle
though no sort of majestic
eagle and the self-appointed team
captain of these peasants, Team Captain
Morris, caught her by the wrist
and then caught the other wrist and he said
as she spat like she was not and had

never had eagle ancestors
but instead was a full-blooded lynx,
“oh you are no eagle able to handle
a medal approximating majesty
and you are hardly much of a lynx;
you can be nothing but a vulture.
Carrion is all you know. Carrion
is all you will ever know.”

At last she was called and she
followed the call and she cursed him
as she went with them to search
for a cave to flee to while Team Captain
Morris could only stand there as the sound
returned and the surroundings
were redrawn or not redrawn
but replaced though not replaced with

anything different yet if
anything would be different
it would regard how the big
bleep’s approach had approached nearer,
or the actual thing of the big bleep.
“They suppose a bleep of that magnitude
will not seep into whatever cave
they believe they may safely

flee to and do not see that their fate
will fare far more fortuitous
by remaining in the open,
for in the open the bleeps the big bleep
bleeps will suffuse unlike the caves
and bleeps need no large opening,
and oh the reverb they shall
be stuck with. Oh the reverb.”

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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