a poem of the corporate wars
He is too hungry in his moves,
His voice too smooth to be safe and yet,
They listen and they wait to act until
It is too late...
Famished for all they have,
For all they are,
While I, a witness to the feast,
Observe the movements of this beast that feeds
On all he sees,
On all but me,
The little bird that runs among the crocodile's teeth,
Taking a meal of trivial scraps,
While the feeder grins and sleeps
And dreams of killing.