ONÇAI’ve met a man half drunk, half stoned

hitting his head on walls and bashing doors

two packs of cigarettes a day

a broken roar, an old knee.

I couldn’t turn away

his yellow eyes had already caught

me and my rifle

our glares became silence

then screams

then moans


there is no escape from concrete

chambers or arteries

no life-threatening resolution

worse than lust


One last puff and I was let go

he rolled up his window

when he realized my aim at his chest

the determination in our veins

the ancestral pathos

to sniff out feeble obediences

to chew on surrogates

to hunt.