Sir Veiled.

Arms curl their way around
and into the lions gut,
pulling it down or pushing it up.
A not so subtle departure. From surrender
the lion is hurled into the abyss
or trapped in morbid curiosities, caged.
Some will gawk and ask,
How does the lion live and lair?
Where does it go when it leaves the den?
One says, “It eats the weak.”
Another, “Don’t assume to know its prey.”
Instead, just follow the beast
an insightful track trailed by medium.
The bits of captured consequence
presumed and postulated by
creatures craving more and more.
The lion’s roar is heard for miles.
Some will broadcast in a lesser voice
without notice, to others
a dip in its mouth, success.
Speak to the lion, it is denned.
It is eating. It will sleep.
It will shit, piss, fuck, and roar
for you.









p.s. that shit is corrosive even in small doses.