Pyramus the Penguin

Dawn warbles,
as the suns sings one song
and rain clouds another, so grey matter
dulls the penguin's morning plunge.

If he hunches his shoulders
and hides his face,
he can keep enough warmth to motion
the bifurcation of his feet
as they split..

Birth's upright plough does little to resist
a grubby slide
so,

The geometry of his shadow is shark-shaped

And while the wind wiles
which way
to cause most offence
his mind, vieille-fille, does his undoing
oh so he does..

nothing

But waddle, mindful Pyramus not really thinking, 
her lightness anchored to his sternum
as if he's been skinned
he'd let everything in, or

There were lovers' tryst, out there
in the ice.