Chicken tenders and chicken wings,
I love all those chicken things.
But if you asked me about my own,
I would say "leave them alone".

not pet.

in window i sneak,
i see me alarmed
in glass, i ponder
the swish-locks they arm

not people!
inside,
not them, like me,
not scattered outside

no food for them waiting,
no fence for them pacing,
no kind of invading,
how come? how go?

see pet.

where found, i climb
in flurry, i bound
but they can't have
me,

not pet.

A new year
A new beginning
It starts with fire.
Fire
That's all you see.
I see my house burning
In front of my eyes
Ripping away piece by piece
Diminishing into the flames.
I see my friends getting hurt
Smoke suffocting them.
They don't know what to do
They can't run or hide.
I hear my family crying;
Our home is fading
We have no where to go.
For you it's just trees.
For me it's home.
It's my food.
It's my living.
Everything is taken away from me
Yet you cry for your loss.
My entire Species is going extinct.
One by one they burn
Along with their house
they vanish into the flames.
This is too painful for me.
I have nothing to cling onto
I have no family to call.
I'm just a homeless runt.

There was once a little fox who was born lame. Its brothers liked to play and bite and grow, and none of these things did the little fox care to know.
In the light of a setting sun, they ran and skipped, playing with each other’s tails. The lame little fox, healthy of body, albeit smaller than its brothers, stood by and watched. Its mother approaches it.

She sits next to it, watching the others play.
“Your brothers are almost ready for the hunt.” She begins, and the little fox looks at her.
“You will not survive.” She tells it, sparing them both the discomfort of looking a son in the eye while bearing such news.
The little fox does not cry.
“Will I die at the jaw of an animal?” He asks.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The mother does not answer.
The fox looks back at its brothers. He’s never liked playing with them much.
“If you hunt at my pace, will I slow you all down?”
“Yes. It will be your brothers who will die at the jaw of an animal then.”
The little fox looks on, and with a blink of its knowing little eye, understands.
“You are going to **** me.” it says.
“I must.”
“Then do not be kind to me in my taking. Lest I survive, run away, and come back a creature you will not recognize.“
The mother is calm, her response a knowing silence. The breeze is a sigh of fall. Winter soon approaching.
“**** me sooner rather than later.”

The little fox walks away (for they both know today is not his day) no doubt to take a nap in the family’s den.
If the little fox were to leave, thought the *****, it would leave tonight or tomorrow morning. She would strike then.

The foxes were all done with their play, and the mother sees them to their den.
“I will strike tonight” she thinks, decided. But when she arrives at the mouth of the den, among the chatter of the young babes was the fox’s absence, which could only be noticed by a loving mother’s gaze.

“Come, children.” Says the mother to her settling kits.
“Sleep now. We’ve God’s own wrath to prepare for.”

The times have me gobsmacked,
petulant observer, no more endearing
than anonymous audience.

My own visions, shadows on cave
walls, storytelling secret
animal lanterns.

spaghetti roll feast
walk pillage
alligator cross drum

topiary bale scarf
meek cat
foliage podcast lion

pelican stage fleece
dinner tomato
effigy nose tricycle

druid thyme leg
apple loot
spice chutney canine

Her eyes said it all
Sophie never wants to feel displaced
my eyes concluded
a love like her are irreplaceable