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L Jan 2020
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.”
I’ve written this in such a way that it can have multiple meanings and endings. I’d love to hear anyone’s interpretations!
Silent white morning
Hosts a red velvet hunter
Crimson stains the snow
abby Nov 2019
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.
Fox
I am half wild
A creature in between
Soft and inviting
Only sometimes seen
Feral and free
At home in the green
Drinking clear water
Pure crystal and clean
Do not seek to tame me
Though I seem serene
I walk in both worlds
My senses keen
A Simillacrum Sep 2019
Start to dance,
maybe my bones break.
Start to chant,
maybe my voice dies.

Start. Stop. Start. Stop.

With this wand,
I waive rust.
With this wand,
I let blood.

Start. Stop. Start.

I don't want blood.
I don't want to buff
your sword and
your armor
anymore.

I only learned
this trade
for the portal spells.

I only want to
escape.
A Simillacrum Sep 2019
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
A Simillacrum Sep 2019
Someone like me told me,
"You have to get involved."

Someone like me told me,
"You have to use your voice."

Someone like me told me,
"You're a disgrace
      to your people."

I said back,
"I can't argue that."

I think, what's
the point of getting mad?
I've been called worse
than a delusional man

in women's clothes.

I think, what's
the point of the pitchfork?
I think, what's
the point of fighting language?

Someone like me told me,
"You're part of the problem."

Someone like me told me,
"You've been brainwashed."

I said back,
"Possibly."

I think, what's
the word I'd use
to describe you?

"Nonplussed."

And that's okay--
Funny even,
when you're angry.

You're funny
when you're angry.

Ha      Ha      Ha      !
they told me i can't be an identity politician.

whew! dodged that pie to the face.
A Simillacrum Sep 2019
I don't want no more
cherry
              light.
I don't want no more
green
            in - ferno.
Once upon a time I
held dreams as close
as I went on
to hold smoke
in my lungs --

   I don't want no more.

Yes: maybe Davey is right.
Which edge is the knife's edge and
which edge is. . .

Which edge is which?

Yes: maybe my Davey is right.
Complacency kills
the best of all intention.

My sleep's been in detention.
Maybe taking the easy downer. . .
Maybe taking
the easy upper. . .

I'll      take      back

      my dreams.
i'm in a 9 day fall
from the stratosphere.
i'll make it.
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