as Lovely as      a Golf club is his
neck: and as Strong, Yet      won't Return
Calls and can't      Admit to anything
that's Natural in One like      him who Has
no Bond      that Looks like no one
and Isn't afraid of a Creature      that's Smaller
than Himself      now he's Humming an
Obscure new Zealand folk      song at Your
Intercom      you'd been Told only
three People know. He      was brought Up
there in a Small      holding Pen: or in
arms that Held him Closer      Than he has
become Used      to. Nothing and
no one Has a Claim unless      he Assents
yet he Rides      around Town as if
He is a leopard tamer on Stilts      with Bloodhounds
at his Heels      i have to laugh and Lend
him a Tissue and Massage      His elbows
a Clock ticks      under a Divan
or In a Wardrobe: then      a Pillow
loses a Feather      the Hounds their man