A Ravening Heat

All around me the land suffers too much greening. The luxuriant froths over into a feverish lush. Birds cannot consume all the insects. Snakes cannot eat all the birds. The ground hogs on the swill of decay. If this is natures wealth then a little poverty is needed, a tax on the riotous and too abundant. Death the reaper must rule his kingdom with more gusto, both the prey and the predator sparring none, the sickly succulence of overripe sap drained and clarified by a cooler sunlight. I was whelped in more temperate climes, wolves died of hunger and age not heat stroke. The rabbit burrows are oven gates for marauding hordes and an avid pestilence. The balance is tipped and off kilter, The climate repaints its face more garishly each day. I hear the mandibles of ferocity, their click and remorseless grind, and there is no softness in the nibbling jaws of those who rampage silently, those, who strip the bloated and obese to the dark and rancid bone. I secretly journey now under dawn stars, trace my way over cooling paths before another fevered heat force feeds the land.