Warfare, throwing rocks, the feckless are done.
The unfortunate stagger as order comes true.
My teeth sink deep into the flesh of injured prey.
Sweep them away to be fossilized.
Predation of the weary
The band of victors celebrates with fervor.
Stacking bones in conspicuous shapes,
to appease the gods.
At camp we gaze afar with bellies full,
picking our teeth of bipedal marrow.
Preferable hunters with finer tools
unknowingly leave an immortal legacy.