Discovering the Fox

The night ripe, waterworks tapping with anticipation

I corner the fox, and ask him how

he doesn’t resolute or resolve in his revolving mortification

of ideas and self, the peculiar machine now

arriving: I see his resurrection

as he delivers his life on a salver, the truth and vow

of caring and calming and decluttering my soul through emancipation

and discover that not all or anyone is like the fox

His perseverance, tenacity, lustiness, vigour and willow

white lies, not to harm

but as a compromise—the slay stray fox and his lonesome

thoughts, which I plead to decipher, but remains with his countless odes

His quick clean teeth, his claws, his brilliant stream

of vivid contrast and solemnity amongst a crowd of unknowns.

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