ONE KIND OF THERIAN MANIFESTO

When I named the animals the first time

I forgot to include myself among them,

thinking only of classifications like legs,

the fur that grows and where it does;

a system of differences straight from Linneaus.

This one eats bone, and that one is only 

found in the southwest corridor. And

if I flew up there, clutching a bag of

fried chicken, they'd still tell me apart.

Sir, your plumage is the wrong colour.

You must not use this fountain or nest upon

the poles allocated to the conservation effort. 
 
The second time around, the smell of blood

is enough to erase such distinctions.

I've counted my ribs and they're all there,

along with the navel. I whistle to

imitate a syrinx or call to express alarm

that a stranger is in the area. 

Observation revealed signs of distress.

If classification is what you want then take a tip from

Grandin and put me in the cattle compress.

Put me in with everyone who walks or squawks

or bellows, put me in with everyone who squeaks

or fights or burrows, scratch the names out

and find me by the traces of the scent that

my tracks leave in the post-rain soil.