coyote
          tried to take
a girl

          sunk his teeth
in to that girlflesh
          and ran

shot dead
           by the cops
in less than a day

strange
           that we are
judge
           jury
executioner

lawmaking
            legislating
binding
            animals to our humanity
when they know
             nothing
of our lives

            the girl lived
       bearing the mark of teeth
forever

the coyote perished
            for human vanity
revenge
            reciprocity

A fruit filled with golden promise,
bearing value greater than gold,
Golden juices flowing,
From fruits from ancient times,
A treat bore,
From trees
Growing for eternity,
Bearing fruits for animals and mankind.

Society just takes a wall
Puts it in front of the oppressed
Puts up an ad to make us drool
the other sides a moral test

When we peak we are disgusted
But we make no change
Yet, the myths been busted
There's no humane free range

Slits and cracks shine light through sheds
Onto cages of thick blood floor
Upon looking there's chicken heads
But someone's locked the door

Living in silence of the death
Is something done so easily
A chicken takes it's last breath
Look away cos you get queasy

There's no right way to say this
Cos people just don't listen
Start to take the ******* ****
When I start talking bout their chicken

I want to tell them facts and numbers
But they just shut off my voice
Sitting in their fixed mind bunkers
Treating the truth as white noise

I wish it would all just disappear
The senseless murders of these beings
Especially when it' so plain to hear
the scream these aisles are bringing

People eat it no matter the cost
If it's life or 50p more
They don't think bout what was lost
They see meat and eat it as if by law

the sugar bowl rests on the table, anchoring the vinyl tablecloth patterned with bowls of fruits that never became famous.

flies orbit around it like the sun, blissfully unaware of the fly paper hanging in the corner,
looming like *** over the room.

a ceiling cemetery,
a paper paradise.

i look at the mummified insects and i wince.

my fingertips trace the rim of your mouth
and my skin pebbles.
i wet my finger and indulge in you again.

a fly trap awaits me.

A lion and a tiger live in my house
I hate their roars
My voice is as silent as a rabbit
As they slash slash slash
Our home gets trash trash trashed
Bash Bash Bash
I warn beware
Lion Paws through walls
What I’d give to be a bear
After the battles the tiger is calm
While she still rattles
Her paws are soft and welcoming
The lion sits ticking like a time bomb
Pride to great
To admit to any mistake
When the lion roars all run
Except the tiger
She stands and defends us
We wish though she didn't fight fire with fire
Her roar is just as fierce
Even my wails and screams can't pierce through their roaring
Once I had seen
That even the tiger could scream
The lion had scared her into a corner
She told him to leave but still he'd scorn her
The tiger tears spilled
And for once I couldn't take it
My anger filled
And from then on I became a bear
Without a tear I endured the roars of the lion
Without a tear I stood tall
And when the lion closed in
I didn't let him know he scared me
Now the lion stays in his cave
And with his pride
He acts like he has done nothing
Nothing at all

when the earth settled
i would feel the horse  
by the side of empty roads
walking behind hills of weak grass
and every time i would catch a glimpse of its eyes
it would shatter into a million smooth pieces of metallic light
and as i looked through and into the empty spaces around it
it would return to form
as if nothing happened
like how a tyrant pretends to be an innocent man
for his infant daughter

holy Icelandic horse of heart
oh how you defy my line of sight
and catch off guard
my mental stride
on highways and on silky main roads
you make me paralysed
underneath those power lines
that the birds always seem to find

When the moon shines on the factory walls
We still see your pain in your quarter stalls
You stumble your way through the grey graveled ground
As your grunts and groans to your masters make no sound

And while the bricks of a future world lay on your back
How long until they collapse on a red linoleum track
You can't see beyond the endless drag of the whips
As the money-coated Pigs command from fat lips

The suffering is infinite inside your cold hardened lung
And everybody knows horses have no message to be sung
And it isn't your fault that you don't know what's true
Because the Dogs have stolen away everything that belonged to you
But one of these days
You must rise and take back the steel-tipped maze
But how could the dumb light in your eyes
Begin to take the Pigs by surprise?

So when do you gallop away from the chain?
So when do you race away in the oil rain?
So when do you open up your heart?
So when do you wake up and revolt and start?
So when do you neigh out your hidden mind?
So when do you free the rest of your kind?
So when do you realize you've worked inside the sun?
So when do you realize this was never any fun?

The Wainscot Weasel lost an eye to a fight with a bird,
But it’s what he did next which makes him absurd.
It’s because he fell in love with a fish in a pond.
In another life he might have belonged,
But his fur had no scales and his single eye swam with tears,
So from a distance he watched her swim through the months and the years.

A year is millennia for a young weasel to wait.
A year is a long time for even an animal to contemplate.
The sun lingered on the water, its surface filled again from the trees.
A collection of orange smudges then reflected the leaves.

The frogs have all croaked and new birds’ calls now echo,
And still sat a lonely, but quite happy fellow.

He followed her tail’s drag through the painting of his existence,
And finally he could no longer put up resistance.
He lowered himself to the pool where she swam,
And the Wainscot Weasel was never heard from again.

A skeletal stag standing ten trees tall
Hanging moss adorning His wide antlers, patches of rocky lichen covering His driftwood bones
Large cloven hooves stepping carefully yet purposefully among the bleached remains littering the forest floor
He alone reigns here, in this place beneath ours
Even the pines fall silent as He passes
Even the stones
The air is old here
Thick with a power lost to time
Only He is left; a dimming flicker in a collective consciousness
Keeping a lonely vigil in an ancient forest a thousand miles deep and a hand's width beside us
No breath is drawn here
The soft rattling of His timber ribcage is the sole sound as He moves
Ceaselessly
Without rest
To a place always changing, never quite there
The ossuaries lay in a heavy silence
He assures the eternal slumber of all who rest here
The hollows in His skull seem to observe them, undisturbed
He moves on
His name has been forgotten for millennia
This sacred ground has become but a fleeting memory
Few old gods remain, lost to the quickening of time
He remembers, as He stands keeper of this place
Of an age before ours
When they would polish the skulls of the hunt with holy oils in His name
Dancing wildly and unburdened around towering flames
Primal sounds ripping raw from reverent lips
Now He is all but a wavering in the annals
He pauses in His endless march
Raises His great antlers to the thick canopy above
He listens
Feels the shift -- another one has faded
He will most likely be the last of His kind
A somber sentinel tasked with ensuring the dead wake not from their final sleep
Ensuring the silence is suffocating
A deep, weighted vibration
As if the place under ours was itself thrumming with power
Though none remain who once spoke His true name in fearful whispers
He will outlast
For all will eventually come to know
The one they now call death