macport
(iii)

squirrel
it feels like the place
a squirrel would like
had they invented foundries
and clockwork lives

i imagine the rooms
carved in a magnificent tree
an ancient oak
that once concealed
an escaping publican

looking out
through leaves not there
an ironic city
trains of cows and bulls
transport fox and sustenance
to fuel electric nights
in temples
to sandstorm and lice