Fight

Red drips from my chin where I have been eating.

Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth.

Clots of red mess my hair

And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.

I was a killer.

         Yes, I am a killer.

I come from killing.

         I go to more.

I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.

Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juices

    of my inside bones:

The child cries for a suck mother and I cry for war.