You know you are wrong
when you bed me in our own litter
and The Feaster raises its head
to feed our relations with its attention
We persist
and you're having none of my boring objections
This bed has become a field
of mammal ply and spell craft
We sign out glyphs
in energies and positionings
In The Feasters eyes
we have meaning
we are positive
we glow for it
Feathers from air
we tap out
with a shared vocal hark

..in crash the mind ;
plan flown on
an excercise of oblivion
Criminal tide rising
to feel upon the doggy moon
When The Love has only known The Night Time
with little illumination
the revealed is a frightful thing ;
a Medicine and a Leviathan