fly zone

buzzards, pesky revolving birdys
they’re back
circling the smell of vulnerability

vultures, ready to swoop
just another couple of laps
in the sky

death flys, whoop whoop flys
the ones that show up
so they have a tale to regale

looking for their ins
they are
to catch their prey

flapping, and hollah-ing
‘how fucken awesome are we’
not said by deed

to kill a buzzard
strike that fucker
aim for the ankles


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