Walk downhill from atop West Cliff
Ameliorate there, drink the misty champagne wind.
Waves slaps her coasts there - they whop, slash, recurl.
Get smart, she screams - Get smart or get gone. I won't leave.
You'll have to fire me like the rest of them, love.
Some foul-aired jackal gnaws at my bones
sucks the marrow canal dry, leaves guts for the buzzards
but enough is left to cook a fine meal for them.