The Bear’s Paw

The Bear’s Paw
standing at the bottom of the hill
guarded by psychedelic sandbags
filling in the cracks opened by the daily pilgrimages of sheepdogs

King Kong cries
his battery acid caught with it’s guard down on the dark side of town
bearded vultures, pecking his ears in the rain
and his chin setting down a towel on a nude beach while people touch each other,
everywhere

Pol Pot
reeeeeeeeeeling.

hundreds of millions of tiny microscopic parasites
dancing in gaggles while a 140 year old dog lies dying,
slowly steering his magic carpet through a stratus
of lightly spiced sausages

The Popo,
all the gear but beached like blue whales on the wrong end of a tsunami
lions have played backgammon for a thousand years around this watering hole so tell me why
after so many famous moves
would they change their ideas now?

old man, with tobacco eyes and a homemade pool cue
his dancing demons his own and his chin working from home
you can’t win them all…