By Johnny Krump
Sitting inside the lions empire
I returned to the point of childhood.
Flexing across the then visible bridge
I was innocent to the meaning of distance
Though less so to the barrier of pain.
In silent travel I kept an aimless angle
My hope in returning to the silence
Forgetting the shrill base in his chiming roars
I sat in his ruins
A trapped sweating archeologist
Surrounded by aborted fetuses
Watching as his ghost
Built their little catholic coffins
Dressed in young eyes
I was to recant the stitching
Of the bio-hazard bags to the
Approximate ensuing architecture
Developments in the shaping of the cherry wood
To the fitting embrace
Of watching the lion form bleachers through my eyes
Begetting many seats lined among the dignity of the spectating darkness
That clouds in mist
Childhood memories of his profound mane
Adorned with gospels
Etching pro-life extremism.
The penny sized demons wearing sharp smiles
Told me to get back to work.
A customer wanted cigarettes
I had to make change.
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