At the end of the rut
the bucks grow weary
great heads bowed beneath
battle-worn racks
here and there a desultory
joust a soft grunt cast
in diminishing wind toward
indifferent does.
What was it all about?
Majesty tattered, they plod and limp
half-dazed as if emerging
from a potent spell, speak
to former rivals with
the brevity of men:
Sorry, dude.
Fraternity now
and football while
the does cool and cloister
cue up
a chick flick
Terms of Endeerment
dreaming fawnsÂ
as winter advances,
the long white calm
blanketing their broken fever.
Really like this! Write on!
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I shall, Sir! Thank you.
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