pride

Everything built by man is a coliseum, monument, altar.

we crumble at the knees of these structures.

But,

look into the eyes of the lion,

and in this moment, think 

                   no one ever devoured what they didn’t love

prolong this devouring for entertainment, then

pull me apart, what’s inside of me that no one has ever seen before?

do I bleed like I’ve been waiting to know I was living?

is there a poem congealing in the sand?