The Predator’s Lament

Moe Russ – June 12th 2020 – Poetry

Oh! for the taste of
Fresh flesh rising:
Voiceless, passing, pressing of fresh flesh rising.
The bottom of being, skimming along the surface of
Fresh flesh rising.
Lost to the small hushed crushed hurried flurry of
Fresh flesh rising.
miniaturized in this,
minimized in this, 
faithless desperation.
Reaching to find release – for the moment
from the broken ache,
caged aloneness.
Flesh rising and falling
Without support of
Whole, unbounded, elevated spirit.
Whole, unbounded, spirit whispers gently,
“You are full of know-better”.
Outside the gift of exchange,
Infinity has been suffering
From technical difficulties.