I will sharpen these claws on dry savannah surface,
gargle gravel, lockup libido, and let the mosquitos make a meal of me.
I will dance with desperation to dark drums,,
let hunger hug these ribs...and I will writhe in wrath while waiting.

Pacing a trench behind imagined bars of circumstance and karma,
My eyes only shift to keep focus on the prey.

Give only a hint of daylight, to illuminate one weak link in the ties that bind,
and I will explode forth with all the furious passion of a mouth full of teeth.

And rhythm of pumping limbs will match the rumble of purple streaks,
as another gazelle learns about Darwin the hard way.

I wield these instruments well, fingertip scapels unsheathed at the nexus,
of where intention is satisfied and bloodlust simply screams.

Catharsis is a two way street, one frame is released to sustain another,
the beauty is red, warm, wet and reeking of life.

Born for the hunt, dying until the next one.