The abyss.
Always so inviting.

I see a little man over there.
Shall I push him?

I can sense their presence
I did not call them.
But they are here.

 In possession.

I do feel hungry.
I want to devour this branch.          

Qué hambre.

If I could just lick the wounds
of this landscape.

Green honey
Black salt
The leaves are bleeding sugar
The stones are leaking milk

What a feast.

I sense their presence
I did not call.    Them.
Them.
Here.
Possessive.

<>

I’ll keep a stone in my pocket.
If need be, I know I can bite.

Oh well. Here they are.
[all my forest fears]

<

I’m not wearing red, Mr Wolf
Please, choose the other way.

I am not ready, hairy ladies.
Please, conjure me another day.

>

Are they gone?
Are they me?

I’ll suck the stone.
I’ll drink the leaves.
I’ll crunch the salt.
I’ll gorge on honey.

I’ll push, the man
And watch him fall.

What a feast.

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