our starting point

shortly expected   mimicry of the heard
unveiling the sculpture he sits   he smokes
is painted as such   the pastoral field
of the fallen   fenceposts scatter   frightened flocks
pull down the net   caught once
ruddy fox   lying amongst the ramblers' feet
holding indignity   more children should jump
from trees   or roll with punches
overturned   what hand can lay upon itself
drained and returned to nature   the eyes of that fox
the eyes of a future light pollution
and the truth is a let down   where is my limit
of my want   or greed to digest
to wake each morning tasting regret