the small furry thing on delicate toes
tastes its tail, presses its nose

erudition not its game it pads itself into its hole
feathers from his yester-meals conceal, console

it doesn't think of anything
it doesn't think of eh-nee-thing
it doesn't think of n-eeee-th-eeeng
and waits and waits and waits

cold and comfort, fluff and chill
it nuzzles deeper . . . deeper . . . deep

clouds simplistic brain with cotton
sculpts itself warm velvet sleep