Bit

Walk downhill from atop West Cliff

Ameliorate there, drink the misty champagne wind.

Waves slaps her coasts there - they whop, slash, recurl.

Get smart, she screams - Get smart or get gone. I won't leave.

You'll have to fire me like the rest of them, love.

Some foul-aired jackal gnaws at my bones

sucks the marrow canal dry, leaves guts for the buzzards

but enough is left to cook a fine meal for them.