Without Shelter

Without shelter,

I took my knife,
sliced his belly open
and pulled from him
his organs which brought forth a ghostlike steam.

Splitting the rib cage
I crawled inside the beast
leaving a gap large enough
that I could escape from the carcass when the Sun rose
and the flesh was frozen.

Even in death,
the bison gave life

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Filed under American West, outlaw poetry, poetry, Spirituality

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