from one great lover of mankind to another.

Looking out these glass windows, I'd dream

of a place where it'd just be you, it'd just be me.

We'd abandon all human language, and treacly

gratifying human self-pity.

All forms of human troubles, magazines,

pulling all forms of scandalous heartstrings.

Instead, we'd chirp, screech, howl, croak

in a place with nothing but the Law of the Jungle,

with birds perched on our arms,

we could live offa the fatta the lan',

and our legs would grow strong

from our trots with wolves and

our trickster fox.

But the dream fades,

when I hear every tick,

and its inevitable

tock.