Anthropomorphic Cannibalism
The poet with the heart of a lionStretched out in the lower branches of theSun-bleached tree , lazily watchingThe hyenas lick the bones clean ofShelley , Keats , Wordsworth and ByronAlready a full stomach of fancy adjectivesThe Savanah heat a valid reason to letThe carcasses of yesterday’s rhymesFeed the Clan as they laugh at the seriousHeartbroken lines of distress With Cheetah speed the fingers chaseThoughts as confused as a stream of consciousnessTrip over vowels , skinned knees and egosBleed pale crimsonThen stopping to pant and suck in airWhile surveying the landscape to chase a newLiterary rabbit or grammatical gazelle The termite chewing books like dry woodPages falling into scraps, rearranged toMake sense of the illogicalSo when the Walrus yawns throughIvory tusks , the schoolboy fidgetsOf Shakespeare and MiltonCan be abandoned like icebergs