Lets make you a snaaakey
son!
lets digest the ground with its spill of green pearl
and the bars polished floor, lets hold
the taps and pour down our gullets
the golden froth of advertised skies
wetting and wedding our four feet
not two, lets not worry that
its closing time, lets not worry where
The fox wanders, for surely
its steps are its home,
its fur, dying daily
its bite
its life.