There is only one way to bring it down.
There is only one way to drop it like a deer.
A deer slug.
Crawling through the ceiling.
All along the walls.
To the left of the window.
The corners of the halls.
One deer slug. Drop it like a stag and cry and laugh
when the antlers hit the floor like a spilled bag of beads.
Bag it and tag it and off to the factory it goes to make clothes and glue.
Affix the seams of reality.
A bull forcing its way
through the seams of sight.
Charging. Deer slugs! Charging. Not this time.
Please, not today. Please!
Horns down, hands up. Gone.
