My little foxy
Oh all that you have taught me
Forever longing.

I used to imagine myself
As a young fox
Sleeping in a hole,
A small fenditure in the ground,
Perhaps under an old oak tree
Or maybe below the *****
Of a time-consumed hill.

That picturing of my fox-self
In his narrow hole
Always made me feel
Safe, secure and protected.
Even when the rain and the wind
Howled before my narrow refuge,
I could just lie there and be well.

But I am now enough strong
And enough content
Of myself and my life
To imagine myself
As a new kind of fox.
I am a young, proud fox,
Making my way into the world,
Smiling with a foxy grin
In face of everything.
I am strong,
I am cunning,
I am curious
And that's something
To be proud of.

I can jump,
I can run,
I can fight
I can live
Every moment
Feeling alright
And at home in the world.

I used to picture myself
As a young fox
In a small fenditure in the ground,
Seeking a warm and safe place
To rest and sleep.
But I now think that
I can be something different,
Something new:
I am now a different kind of fox.

So, I still lie in my narrow hole,
The one under the old oak
Or maybe the time-consumed *****,
Sleeping,
But I do it with
A new sense of self
And a sardonic grin
On my foxy face.

Like fireflies, they dance
around my head, teasing,
promising resolution.

I can't catch them,
too quick for my heavy hands.

Movement on my fingertips,
but the light dims just as fast.

Frustration closes my eyes.
Defeat sweeps my mind clean.

...

My eyes snap open,
The light blinding,
and finally,
pen can meet paper.

As the fox watches in the bushes, He notices two frogs minding their existence.
The fox stares at the water dwellers with ill intent in his heart, but as the fox waits for a time to strike. He soon comes to realize that he would intrude upon a scene he was not meant to see. As the fox retreats from the pond, much to the dismay of his empty stomach, he finds that his companion brought something for both of them.

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.”

orange dewdrops chase your tail
follow you oh so quietly
the stone fox creeps into your world
trails behind you ever so slightly

patiently
your message waits for you to pick up the phone
you need to know so you may reap what you have sown

you are never alone.

I'm right
on top of
things can't
you see it?

Oh! It's Friday
the 13th?
Thanks Cné.

I'm right
on top of
it, just -- just
trust me!

(An ounce of ****
per week and sleep,
dreamless sleep.)

I'm up
to date on
razor
pop culture.

Oh! It's August
isn't it? Sep - tem
- ber. That's

what I meant.

(An ounce of ****
per week and sleep,
dreamless sleep.)

   Why can't I live like
Oliver Tree?

(An ounce of ****
per week and sleep,
dreamless sleep.)

   Why can't I live like
Die Antwoord?

(An ounce of ****
per week and sleep,
dreamless sleep.)

   Why can't I live like
Mr. Rogen?

LOL