The Lions Den-ial

tripod trio fire
you walk in
scorching Salem stains in the ground
bright burnings telling tales of
polished pride and unconquerable
insecurity.

fish fry in your pain pan
spitting by the sizzling sun
of overexposure. swimming upstream,
I find myself on the hunt myself,
but for solace, for solitude
for shade

like the ones you wear.
Can you yourself see your own glare
when you stare too long in the mirror.
My mirror.
Me.
On the reflection of my surface, I see the rain
and the storm clouds ready to burst
to cool me.

Pride is tiring.
Soon you'll clamber off the tread
and mill not scorn-corn but defeat-wheat.

maybe then we can swim and march together,
you and I.
without the oversensitive tantrum tsumanis
and holier-than-thou heat we generate.
lion and fish, swimmer and stately.
placid and proud. turbulent
and too much.