they're flying

the bulbous head (it has no eyes)
flops
but it's nothing compared

to the flailing arms
they stretch out
from the main stalk
like a blue-stained tree, branches
sticking out from every
which way

striking with abandon
slamming and throwing a fit

it lies deep in its cage
stonework built around it
to keep anybody from witnessing
its childish nature, its immature behavior

it grabs a hunter, clad in a dingy garb
and it takes another arm, and another arm
and yet another arm, and squeezes

adapt
resurrect
mature
squeeze