Going Stag

you are never alone

though your false identity will be

forgotten even with the crown

of antlers on your cranium streaked

with red and your silly hat and

the opening of the forest and

the ripening of the body and

the heat of the moment and

the fake light slanting across even

with the bumping empty heads

the thumping chests the swollen

members the obscenities you shouted

to the assembly of fawns of does and

the hunters with their guns and

the hurt that you cause

that you caused to others

to the earth across the soft leaf

strewn canvas and the wet paint

of blood and the punch to the face

that you shoved to the pavement

for fear you might have to listen

might have to hear words of a woman

that would shatter your ungrounded

convictions and the force underneath

nonetheless nevertheless pulsing forth

forever will forget your name

forever will forget your children

what you loved what you believed

but remember what you do

what you did after the footprints

disappear and snow covers

the mud on which you

so mightily trod impersonating

a buck with the big rack and

the high-five and the rally but

never part of the race to create

just going nowhere another

near impotent buffoon

following your leader