. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

The Ol' Tiger

Who are you
You asked
I’m the ol’ tiger
Satin fur sliding in and between
          and through the bamboo
Your delicate skull beneath these killer’s claws
          holding captive the thoughts you won’t reveal to us
          the interested audience bent
          on loving you
          on destroying you
          on setting your mind as free
          as the blood that runs like rivers through
     this broken land
Soft claws padding across your night-time lawn
          I watch you take your clothes off
          holding your breasts in your tiny hands for the mirror
Treating your skin in a sexless way I find absolutely palatable
Tap-dancing along the shaft of the hunter’s arrow
          in the shade of gum-gum trees
          where monkey’s glide through jailhouse columns of sunlight
          singing hallelujah hallelujah the ol’ tiger still has his stripes
It could have just been any soul
Wearing that skin like a blanket
Crossing wooden fences after midnight
          to steal through stranger’s backyards stepping
          among the intimate ensemble of their private lives
To catch you in the glass
In the bent crease of those dusty fading vinyl blinds
Like an opulent song-bird snatched from her perch
          by the ol’ tiger on the prowl for perfect things
To feast
To sleep
This ol’ man must eat
And you’ve got the bones best gnawed on.


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