A Trap I Laid
Bundled muscles tensing
Crackling bones and marrow
Shifting of a shimmering soul
From civilized to feral
Stench, sweet and sour musk
From dusky black upon cremy white
The plume of a foul and fine tail
Swishes in the sacred moonlight
His fingers crack the dry dirt
With tension from the change
While familiar shape, visage,
And proportion, rearrange.
I lewdly stare and fantasize
A shape that's in my head,
Beading with sweat, it percolates
Not man--a fox instead
He's sweating through his toes now--
And panting with his tongue.
His home will be a den soon,
Sweetened from the smell of dung.
He bids adieu his smooth round face,
Instead, it's now a snout,
He hears the call of the vixen's wail,
Cringes, tries to shut it out.
And now he's on all fours begging.
Straining with all his might,
As his eyes contract to slits--
Reds and yellows enroach upon his sight.
With a swish the vixen comes to court him,
Shitting in the grass.
She circles, dances, parades, and prances,
Presents her sultry ass.
No, no grace here. None--
And yet, what a wondrous sight,
That two beasts so small can muster up
Such fierce, tenacious might.
But despite his fighting still, the man
Has merely progressed through change.
His toes have lifted, feet now four--his
body's become strange.
His will is now anothers;
And he feeds in with resistance.
Newfound fangs and whiskers
Are the prize for his persistance.
And the man is lost, in one great fire--
A frenzied trembling of desire:
He observes: her teats, the cusp of
her own sweet netherlips
Out flares the tip
And in it sinks
Driving mankin to the brink
The rutting, screaming, and the stink
At last, he's gone. There's naught, but stink.
Naught but a fox. Naught but a dog. What loss! What loss? And who to claim a loss today?
Is it you? It is not I.
I praise the change, and beg it hither.
I've been lonely for so long--
And my mind is a fox.
Alone, a man... and how, alone, I wither.