i see the sharks
happy in tuxedos
circling the seals
arfing away on the dance floor

this is the feast of the good king
prepared before the even snow
under the starless gray

i see the lion’s
crying without eyes – they are only bones
less white than white
brittle in the coming bright

this is the fast of the dying lord
prepared as the first flakes fall
from the dismal of the darkening day

i see the lambs
angry in dirty t-shirts
baa-ing wildly to the ether
shorn and huddled waiting for the slaughter

this is the last supper of the mad horde
prepared after the shovels were broken
by the first sunrise after.