My finest adversary
is having trouble dreaming.
He knows my horns are seething.
I've already gotten his small red eyes,
terminated both knees & live beyond his demise.
He's been erecting his reputation with my gashes,
drool, locks of intestines, blood, blood in the bathtub,
blood in the mattress, spine stuffed with blood.
A lance, because he knows how I hate their sting
more than the sting of my blood.
None of his costumes work. All of them crushed
beyond dental analysis. The tired cape
he was made to drag around as a boy, flapping
his surrender just as I work him into the soil.
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