feeding the lion
it’s like feeding the lion the ferocity of bone/ there are no other beds for him to sleep in/ his brother’s cock is a hardening of the weight he carries
in the gravitas of the secret whips he knows he cannot speak to or for or
of/ thin-framed and the pillow stained
and the dust contained in cobwebs
everywhere you look the trapped
sky and wooden floors smell like rot
dragged out in roots/ the buckets are
to piss in/ it’s like feeding the lion the gruel contents of your stomach/