I'Ve Been Hunted

I've been hunted, Like a partridge at dawn, Hunted down blind alleys of desperation; Like I wasn't a man at all But somebody's dinner, Or after-hours entertainment; Shoot-the-can-off-the-fence-post style. But beware of pastime hunting, Because without any warning, Prey can change into predator, And the game becomes about more than boredom; More than simmering a pot on a stove And the fire can change stray bullets into lead anchors, And the arrow-point can lodge without ever being aimed. Things wound without conscience, For that is their nature, But an act without conscience Becomes a sonic sucking chest-wound That can consume an entire world, Because that is the way of remorselessness: The conscience of a wildfire.