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Tamam Shud
Tamam Shud chased feigning foxes
down abreast the fork-ed creek,
shrieking tongues bathed by derision
and dripping wet with melted glue.
They came upon a passing portent
that waved and bathed their toes in winds,
exciting them and drawing clouds
that lingered their for conversation.
Amidst the tact and clattered cozy,
Tamam Shud clutched fox by tail.
He begged him not for stew nor porridge,
not for pelts nor necklaced tooth.
Tamam Shud.
