Song of the Silverback

Once was king of all that tinkles, all that
springs from silver shy.

Silver ball, silver hovel.
Silver ting on silver cone.

Grunt through silver hunt and forest.
Forest good: hunted twice.

Now me polish with silver heave
silver pencils, picking nougat
of silver-eye.

Leaves crackle—
make bells whisper.

Silver crispies
on me silver thigh.

Once was white, white and conic,
now marooned by smiley hi.

No regrets.
Me, economist.

Land of scrape and lucky jaw:

still be sliver,
still be live.