GUTS

To the men
who run around trees
with their intestines unravelling:

round and round he chases himself
leaving a trail of himself

round and round he chases himself
at every turn he catches himself

large intestines
small intestines

giddy giddy bout
your stomachs hanging out

guts guts
guts and glory

forever and ever
abdomen

I am tripping on me undone,
I have loosed me-
No knot, no bow.
I have flying ends
On fast feet.
Lashed by lace
I play with falling -
And skip, and hop,
And fall
Thanking God
On skun knee.

'The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.' A classic narrative learnt by all who aspire to keyboard dexterity. What happened to the fox? What happened to my typing? The photo tells the story.