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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