after thoughts

The mountain lion frowned , in that downward sound , only he recognised
His queen was a dissapearence, a ghost,  on the shadow of the ice rock and roll, the blind
Where should he have gone? from here on in? The lodge of desperation, the ward of his torment
A figment,  of his imagination, resolving his cubs past and present,

Carnivore on the wings,  of a vultures claws, grasping through the lungs of the aftermath of his life
Even, embedded, shredded,  amongst a landscape of Monet blue and untoward strife
Who are you my embittered beast? A land of yeast or a sky of claws
The troll of caves, or the cloud of yours

An italic calligraphy of ink and a link into the background of  hurt, the princess or the prince
A mountain lion,spine so strong, the story must continue, the sideward eyes that glimpse
Who am I to question, the megalith of stone and marble etchings, the fetching of water the quenching of the drought
There is no answer to the equation,? The mammal, bird, nor resolute, drown amongst the growl or the cry of those that need the out.

The prophet must continue, the poem must progress
A movement of the sunrise, in which they must digress
In time stitch alterations, where the seam of life was pulled
The fabricated passions, in beast and bird instilled

The minds of all our children
A collapse intrinsic notes
Never let them conquer
The ones, and after thoughts

The bull

The bull browsed the green of fields, of silence
Of heightened awareness, the following of others ignorance
He played poker on the hoof, stayed aloof, cried on que
Danced in the puddle, in the middle, wearing a tuxedo, black tie and suit of blue.

The bull,   didn't know the difference, his hay said hey and his thoughts cried for horns
As big as the back of his neck. Yet he stood all alone, while his siblings giggled with scorn
At the tiny protruding, the absolutely, field, in which he cried all alone
And then he made a decision, he'd cut the grass, he'd swipe the flies, he'd never be over thrown

The bull, he would take control of the pride , within him, and the part of his destiny
He'd build his habitat amongst the fields and habitat amongst the machine gun fire and the ratatat
Don't you see, the bull shit a pie inside his newest creation he called
Government amongst his conquests, he was the strongest amongst the hurd, he'd die before he'd fall.

The bull, the mighty beast. The presidential, no longer the inconsequential
King of his empire. Horns protruding. Absolouting. Something Royal, someone special
He bacame the beauty of that green of fields, his tuxedo black tie and blue
Just embrace the story we've tried to tell, the bulls in the each of you.

A clasp of the forcep

Running into the best of a drumming heart vessels
Of crashed sails the
Drowning of hurt
The English wind and gales of countryside robins crying
For bread. For laughter,  for entanglement of councils amongst red robin breaststroke
Breath of breasts
Sanctuary in the sky blue of autumn
Shedding the grass snake DNA
A love letter straight from the Piscataway
The boat of caution
An abortion of snowdrops and frost driven nights
Of freezing ice burg toes and living after throes
She danced and lived amongst finger nails blue
I'm just in hatred, I'm poor and inept
But at least I'm original , at least I'm
A concept. A harbour against
The for against the clasp of a forcep.