In the tree, down the trunk, on the curb and then running in front of a car.
Experience has taught me if it doesn’t work out with you, if I don’t see you again
along comes another I can’t tell apart.
An ass once magpied a lion’s skin that the hunters had left to dry in the sun. Chameleoning himself inside it, he swanned towards his native village. At his approach, the hare grew chicken-hearted, the chicken hared away. How good it felt to wolf among the sheep, he thought, and as he went a-monkeying in his ferocious fur he let out a mighty bray. Hearing this, the hare and chicken stopped and, turning to find not claws but hooves, began to parrot teachings on natures true and fox.
The Roost Tree
Sick of my own thick stability. Too defensive – and of what? Year after year I couldn’t bear.
A choice ran over me. Yes, I said, and cautiously watched my innermost self – bored away by modest jaws. It was time to be an invitation
and when he took me I told him flap inside me should you want, but all I’m after is your muck and matter for your muck and matter’s my fruit.