land of the free roaming beasts.
not wild, but untamed hierarchy.
delegation of preying upon the weak
for tough jaws, they make kings out of murderers
and murderers of the starving, children
born into a game of chance, no one is winning.
but that’s the way the world
turns under dry skies.
where bones stay above ground as vines coil
around rib cages held together by grass-root soil
bleeding into golden fountains even
the lions cannot find--

Destiny arrived on an empty boat
on a high horse with a green tongue, mined oasis
manifesting legends out of histories
he can’t erase--rewrite the devil to play saint
but it is hung on every branch of tree,
in the direction the water flows and the way heat makes
the world move slow, but forward still
as the toiling chariot pulls the dripping sun down
to make room for colder nights,

the dawn’s early light touches
this land, unbounded

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