The fox with foot
within a snare
will thrash and cry
til bone lies bare

Then gnaw it off
the limb entwined
limp far and fast
leave it behind

For foxes know
with basal brains
that liberty
means blood and pain

And so it is
that such as I
must chew upon
the hows and whys

This gnawing, though,
brings no relief
the cords, they tighten
to my grief

How cursed am I
to have this head!
This ceaseless
existential dread!

I wish I was
a small brave thing
that wanted naught
of wish or dream

But only cared
for mate and meat
for spring and sun
and burrow sweet

Make me a fox
with legs of three
no more ensnared
forever free.