On the Cry of the Virgin Fox

Like child being raped the fox it shrieked

As though its pelt were pelted through the dark.

And fur on fir where spine contorted peaked

The fragrant fibres bristled ‘gainst the bark.

 

The shriek repeats, resounds, surrounds this freak

Of nature, brittle flesh this hooked staff breaks

And rips retracting raw and flapping weak

Torn canvas shreds of pleasure God forsakes

 

A stone through paper wet whose fellows, flint

That, wrapped round sticks and shafts with flimsy bind

A gleam in gloom, begat of earthy mint

The finest forge-work born of whimsy mind

 

Angelic rapeling in the dark I thought

But merely fox in grandeur right distraught.

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2 thoughts on “On the Cry of the Virgin Fox

    1. this is why no one should leave in the countryside. night after night i am genuinely worried that there’s a six year old girl being raped in the dark outside. honestly if that happened, i think anyone would assume it was just a fox, that’s what they sound like. Christopher Hitchens has a theory that the aversion to eating, killing and sacrificing pigs in Western religions is partly because their squeals are horrifyingly similar to a human’s. i’ve heard that male foxes have hooked genitalia, causing extreme pain to females during copulation

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