Pheasant

Underglass, all microscopic:
  Essence masked in blithe responses
Questions asked, drawn blanks beneath
  A thin veneer of make-believe

A quarter-horse run ragged down
  Some clustered hive, damned environ
Blueblood quench the red beneath:
  Twisted, that serpentine wreath

    Sotto voce far-flung point made moot
    From fine-wrought banquet-table's foot:
       "Somehow the savory scent of your substance
        Falls short of redeeming the loss of your trill....."