dancing with the lions

In a hallway of frozen clocks

whispers of softened nightmares

drape from the charcoal-grey lockers.

Wrapped in absurd callings,

I warn my legs to strengthen

as my throat begins to scratch.

A pile of manes and sabortooth scraps

swept into the tiled corner

of the second floor.

I prepare and dive

into the mouth of a lion

to see what it’s like

to survive on stampedes

of broken bones and

voices that never stood a chance.