The Savage World

In a savage world it ends the same for all.
Spent capillaries seep, a throbbing portent of death.
Saliva and blood mix salty; the slack-jawed panting.
Even the most bold water the ground in those moments
when white wolves call them quarry.
These alabaster jackals sacrifice the weakest
in their packs.  Aiming for higher plains,
snuffed snarls fade like galaxies on Kansas dawning.

The edges of the prairie canvas are taut with anticipation.
It is a savage world that puts its best to death.

*Inspired by George Catlin’s Buffalo Hunt, White Wolves  Attacking a Buffalo Bull, as pictured at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art.

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3 Responses to The Savage World

  1. Kiki Malone says:

    That was filthy! And I loved it!

    I’ll be murmuring this under my breath for days:
    “These alabaster jackals sacrifice the weakest
    in their packs. Aiming for higher plains,
    snuffed snarls fade like galaxies on Kansas dawning.”

  2. Kiki Malone says:

    Dude, a fellow teacher just stopped me in the hallway to praise this poem. She said it was “really great.” Seems I forgot to log-out on my computer in the lab this morning. You’re racking up the nonrelational praise around here. Just thought you should know.

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