Hadn’t always been a need to flail about.
Not far from home.
Just remote enough,
to go it alone.
Peril clung to hanging flaxen rope.
Ram and rod.
Tusk and bone.
Sheepishly, the somber slates called for more.
Misshapen, hap hazard, no bare-feet.
What a dwelling?
Deposits of life gone by.
I turn away as if, shy.
The welfare of woolpacks seemed… hung upon in jeopardy.
Horns and scorns.
Orphanages of beast…herded without care.
Remote justification of arrogance.
Vainglory, skinned and bare.