Wednesday, 11 November 2009


Pacing, pacing, pacing
back and forth, sashay, plié
tightrope prowl
down the line and back again.

The urge, the innate drive to roar,
to proclaim, to maim
to release a deep bubbling growl
pulses with each step,
runs like currents prickling the skin
caught in a cage
needing to go elsewhere
but forgetting where it began,
losing the sense of habitat.

Plastic verdant bushes release scent,
a hungry longing lay waste
at the pit of an insatiable belly
sometimes caught in the loins
a lingering, throbbing,
undercurrent of duty and instinct.

Pacing, pacing, pacing
stuck in slow motion
protest and flight coded in the graceful dance
de-clawed and spayed
she eats long-dead flesh,
rendered to serve as a source of amusement
for snot-crusted kids with overweight parents.

Pacing, pacing, pacing
the way out obscured, locked,
She lays, a golden spread,
long tail flicking and wrestling
covered in dust.

Images via Behance Network: Lion Series

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