I see the best minds of my pack siring the myth of life.
Starving hysterical naked, facing the math of life.
Who bite wild sheep in the neck, shrieking sheep our true delight,
and yet we are blameless faultless taking the breath of life.
Who cower in the jaws of wolves, yapping wolves our nightmare,
our brief gig to be lamb stew busted by the swath of life.
Who copulate ecstatic and insatiate driven
by a secret twisting code sky-high on the meth of life.
Who sweeten meadows and valleys with luxuriant shit
scat singing through bush and plain begetting the tath of life.
Who lounge hungry and lonesome on the drifting floe trembling
nose to salty bubbling hole hoping for the pith of life.
Who plunge themselves pinwheeling far under ice, lungs ticking,
in search of flashing silver scales the shining froth of life.
Who blow and sink studying moonlit zebra and kudu
crossing rivers skittish don’t look here comes the wrath of life.
Who whisper and wander together break down and fade out
together walk all night suffering bound to the troth of life.
Who appear and disappear then reappear by changing
shape, supernatural, brilliant, clawing keen to death of life.