BESTIAL

Morning comes

& in His multihued fury the succinct
unconscionable Him the uphill

Lion drags Th'Carcass stretched to a shock
( Flesh th'foe )

painting in His own inhumanly artistic way
th'dependent Dust,

Spring's ravaging varieties
down the untainted trail

upon th'virgin sward
outrunning all Intent.

Towards Noon

skinned by the glimpse, existence:
midday's timid dreams

garnishing it with Chance's great argosies
... worms, insects, the world's upward wasps,

the downing dogs & gods & sundry basic beasts
& committee tyrants gathering
with a sophisticated horde of diseases
lips pressed so greedily to th'Lion's trail

coming out of th'stars, rounded to a roar
& still warm of the numb victim's blood,

wearing the hot flint of Summer,
the dead-cold Terror, the

sigh's long browse life (eventually) becomes:

still desperately tasting
th'desires of Distance

--by Evening

Lion has already devoured
the finches of his annoyance,

the most generous portion & the best beasts
& worst diseases multiplied themselves beyond One!
into th'singularity of Change
running down Th'Trail

while th'dumb beasts commit suicide
trying to spark Day in vain beyond itself

by their innumerable intellectual self-
immolations upon the self-dedicated

altars of the Dark (Mind) &
th'same as always

as the Twilights progress

Autumn like a nation,

even the most distant memory of the trail
sandstorms the mouth, fades then

(consumed by the onrushing diseases
yet howling at the unmated moon

expiring upon the careless bayonets of the peaceful Fall

where simple existence has become its own
ever more complex cycle of Salvation & Doom

... there housed in the hostile human,
become yet another One: God

shouts out--Run! Lion, run!

If you slow down or stop
Disease must catch up with (that super-
nova) your Crime, then

the         

    Night