To A Trapped Lioness
Even in his sleep beside you,
your mate you can hear pacing his
rage-carpeted cage of snoring
vanity whose bars and sharp blades
of light stabbing through them are all
equally his own mind trying
to erase, and not, its tyranny
over his every breath and stamp.
Beware of feeding him your blood
and milk of your still-flowing breast.
Such food both pacifies and fills
him with despair as it keeps him
every day waking to become
his fear that his cage will, and not,
fade. Let pride to its need of love learn
to kneel, or gnaw itself to death.
From Gift of Screws © Brian Chan
