Lion

Silence then the grassy plains
tremble as
a roar slits
the naked air
It
stares down the afternoon sun
Those eyes orange brown
indifferent beautiful tameless
innocent terribly so
The deep-chested giant growls its mane
moves wild about its head
its four-inches long
canines flash
a deep-throated yawn
follows and all's
silent again

Soulless Creatures

Seattle:
The Space Needle from below looked so tall

I closed my eyes fearing it might fall

Washington, DC:

From behind the black fence

White House looked so imposing

I felt it was approaching

San Diego:

In San Diego zoo I watched a lion

in its enclosure

sick or sleeping doing nothing

then finally a yawn

Las Vegas:

At Palms the Demon With Bowl

bent down with a terrible cracking

and I stepped into the yawning hole

where its head had been and I let go

into the darkness of its soul.

I Hear Frogs Croak

A South African lion thundered, roared
at me: Stop! I shall be devouring you!
Shuddering, "When?" I asked the mighty king.
The fiend bellowed: It will be a surprise,
like one's birthday bash…or a fatal stroke.

Oh please have mercy on me, I implored,
sobbing: Is there anything I can do?
The big cat growled back, Not a single thing
can save you, so get up and wipe your eyes,
you look pathetic…man is such a joke.

I stood up slowly—though my tears still poured,
my bones convulsing with despair, anew.
Meanwhile a breeze, perfumed with blooming spring,
passed by, birds sang as sun began to rise,
and spill the warmth of that, that runny yolk.

But what if I kill you, you godless lord,
or end myself, before you could get to?
I’m immortal, the beast began to sing,
and second, as for wooing your demise,
go on, I even lend you my own cloak.

And then the jungle's king retired toward
a red bush, after bidding me adieu.
That mamba hangs as though a tail or string
from some dead-rat tree; here slime lily lies:
split white petals…but those are frogs that croak.

It's Humid Out Here

It's humid out here
Economies always collapse
We smoke to pass the time
Far away lion cubs practice their growl
High above vultures hissing and they grunt
I can almost feel the fire ant's leer
guiding my bike faster past the tents
When the vultures land guerillas come out
It's the sun or shame inviting me to melt?
It's an aged cacao tree that I've hid behind
I think I taste a bitter kindness near

The Gray Lion

The gray lion lingers.
Luring him a gazelle 
grazing on open plains.

You devour the flesh.
You taste the golden grass.
Pacing behind the bars.