November 10, 2006

He can't feel his paws

Chicken and eggs lobbed
from twelve feet away keep him
fed. They comb his mane when
he's sleeping. They clean his chin with a sponge.

Planted in someone's garden next to
the tulips.
Cool dirt and pebbles
pack up tight against his belly down

below
below.

They let him roar when he wants to roar.
Why not?

Category: Book o' Verse | Subscribe to Cecil or About-Creativity | Permalink | Digg this post
What do you think?

Euphoric, Cecil! Euphoric. I love this one. Ripe. It leads me to wonder about a Jungian interpretation.

Posted by: Inanna at November 11, 2006 7:45 AM

Roar! Amazing

Posted by: heroic imp at November 13, 2006 9:39 AM

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