Dance in the Full Moon

O, the Frailty of Memory

Monday, February 4, 2019

2.4

I'm crouching in the reed bed,
drooling mouth a blood red,
staring at a new prey,
hoping fate will obey,
willing muscles wound taut,
burning just a single thought--
Tiger.

I'm munching in the dry heat,
a living taste of fresh meat,
poem drawing to an end,
hoping one last day to spend--
Goat.

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