My antlers are not right
they are twisted they are not right
they are growing too fast
soon they will twist and twist together and grow straight up
what a sight a boy with antlers and a shaven face
an antler tower I will be easy to catch
I cannot run through the woods
the branches are too low
will knock me over
I am a trophy
I am hunted
I am valuable
they will take my tower they will
cut the structure from its foundation and caress the bone
they will carve figurines
from my tower they will make little boys
rifles of bone to twist more bodies and their children will
play and forget this body sinking
into the ground now
they have their tower and their miniatures will soon kill
their own ossified prey
my antlers are still not right
I am gone and I am not
right
