Friday, 6 April 2018


The lion tamer wore a cord of drool in her hair
A thick brocade of regurgitated sparrow

It is hard times to be the lion
A tiny bone / a sliver of glass in the gum

In the mouth the lion tamer’s skull is a marble
A rolled trick down the crease of a tongue

She smells carrion everywhere she goes
She has tooth dents in the nape of her neck

It is hard times to placate your trust
The lion rattles like a merry-go-round

We have lost so many marbles
The machinery is all gummed up today

Soon the lion tamer will lose the game
Another wet snap in a dark cave

Is it worth it for that first moment?
You trust everything until you don’t

I’d risk everything to take it once
A faith so thick I am smothered in its jaws

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