The hills were blanketed with the furry cerulean petals
of the invasive blue foxtongue
which was choking all the native vegetation
and driving the local wildlife insane
with its intoxicating fruit.
Gnats crazed amongst the fermenting berries,
and cardinals and woodpeckers grew drunk on the juice,
their scaly feet getting snagged in the brambles.
A famished coyote lapped at an inky puddle
then munched on a frothing raccoon's anus
while the creature was still alive.
Hairy old men flapped their rubbery wings
and opened their beaks to swallow mugs
of wormy foxtongue slurry.
A one-horned elk bared its metal teeth,
black juice dripping down its chin,
then lowered its head and charged an ivy-covered
Eldorado that had been rusting in the woods
for half a century.
The hives overflowed with rancid honey that year,
and we filled our hats with it and buried them
in the cool dirt to coagulate into something
we could put in our lanterns when the sap
of the crimson bearfat trees stopped flowing.