Isn’t it a shame that
you don’t tame the lioness
within you who
attacks the guts of
the running dialogue
the antelope
dying in a panic
its intestinal fortitude
gone in bloody entrails

and yet it is running on a trail
that once was safe to trod, and
it asks, “why am I the last and weakest
of the unheard herd.” Into the weeds

the lion tears out the guts
and eats without prayers, because
it is lucky to eat the weak as a treat.

Have you no lamb chops or
an embouchure on a love reed, or
is it a sheep skin read to censure
that is your savage lust