have killed fellows
in cold blood
while theirs was hot
and their gazes were taut
and cold.
They stabbed
and knew no guilt
They shot and
shot and with every
bang or click or
blast, with every
trigger pulled, their conscience
died a little.
Whimpering at the foot
of God begging to be
saved and nurtured.
If men could kill fellows
in such ways as the brain
could not genuinely phantom,
what more a cornered rat
belonging to a species I know not
of whom I have no affinities
or love or recognition.


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