Atop the carbonosaurus she’s slain,
Chainsaw lays prehistoric.
Radiating the smell of pre-Cambrian cambium.
Teeth all along her satis-smile.

Lubri-blood and sap, ruby and amber,
Faceting her sidewise bite.

Product of the earth’s still still
Pooling in her belly, thanks
To the ticks who wield her.

Once cool enough, they’ll empty
Both the waterless sinks,
Wheeling towards a heat,
Permafrosting tick and chainsaw together forever.

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