The lions leap through rings. Bullets bought and news is warped,. They dance on puppet strings. The cogs are oiled, the wheel turns,. The greasy hand glides on. Until their manes are shorn. De-maned and maimed the lions squirm,. Their roars are whispered now. Prison zoo bars soar from the ground. The cats forget how to prowl. Meanwhile the ringmaster glows and gleams and gloats,. In a grotesque, stylish lion coat.

The one sure thing about living. The only reliable thing around. The only thing hope is made out of,. The only thing the end is made of. Nothing certain but the certainty that what is known is uncertain. A friend is an enemy. A family goes absent,. So much is certain to be lost. Shifted into an ugly, disfigured picture of what was known before. The scariest part is the losing yourself.