The
king lurks about the jungle
Upon
the trampled brush, beneath the Macaw
Somehow
the leopard rests in mud
Heirs
of scapegoats
Pass
as missionary
Victims
bearing wood
Storytelling
to the aborigine
Sulking
is the jackal
Patrolling
the plains
Roughshod
over terrain
Territories
made for ticks and mites
Symmetrically
scoping the vast beyond
A
safari treks all day long
Draining
canteen, the driver eyes the count
Thinking,
“soon it may come to that”
That
leopard’s got a spot of blood
And
the Hyena turns,
Laughing
at the love
