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Erin Lynn

Based on the Unicorn Tapestries

Inescapable stench of lilac

woodland green & rotten with life.

Men here grow weary of plenty,

have forgotten how to hunger.

Some beasts are not for keeping.

White thing lowing in birch groves

knows its face in morning brook water

flaunts its flesh, its naked desire.

Hound hunted, the beast is cornered,

his horn a match for any swordsman.

They build him a pen and a golden collar.

They watch vermillion drown his ivory.

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