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The deer have gone kill-crazy. The deer,
they are gifted leavers, always leaving
by waiting on the road in the hazy and
cold fog of morning family road trips,
and they are master grievers always grieving
on dusty paths where their brother’s bones break;

shit, dude, their faces are half-weaponized,
give them a good season and we’ll be
the ones learning to leave,
standing dumbly on the slickened streets.