Hunter Crescent’s Last Throws

Ripened grin with no eyes

Under the hunter’s last throws,
she finds herself settling
within the comfort
of a familiar thirst, but
there’s scarcely any moon left
on the rind
for this impromptu hunt, and
I’ve too many questions
to embrace her want,
which had been my mind and soul,
— but not my body,
— not for so many other
past-named moons.



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Barry Dawson Jr. IV

Medium Top Procrastinator. Guilty of writing under the influence. No, I’m not upset. My face always looks this way. INTP