Liam Strong

cryptozoological evidence bears witness to wounded enbie, reports say

it’s easier if i disclose what i am up front, easiest if you do the work for both of us to decide for yourself. transparency isn’t key, but wants to. i can shift this blood around to give a more
convincing presentation. tada. muscle like it’s a dying trophy, bonfire of carbs, & it’s the year of the rat again. someone’s job requires knowing the origins of cobwebs & dust bunnies. you would think i might, but i don’t. crickets autotuned with grief ritual. my father tells the neighbors a story surrounding extinguished logs: of me, the first buck, eight point, whose antler had been shot clean off, my spike of putrid velvet. of how pity or generosity become lost or lose themselves in a forest. the result is the same. of course. of how the lesser known animal must make a name for itself, illusions that magic exists, the moss who etch songs into undergrowth. of hunted things which must remain hunted, or by suggestion, unworthy. fetish of moonless berries, stomach whose pit has no flesh. you’re right, correct, even. if i didn’t want this attention, i wouldn’t identify with targets, their ripples of hypnosis. i won’t check for your license, the tags, proof of $5 purchase. there’s no one to tell. dying might as well be dying no matter the cause.