Daisies and Knives

Joe is an old, withered tiger. Stripes of balsa wood and matches walking in a burning ring of hellfire His shameless tamers snapping whips. From deep blue state shadows to keep afloat the latest ruse. Feeding him grade school scripts. Paraded in front of media buzzards. Most cultures would call it senior abuse. Every now and again he stretches the chain. Gives us a glimpse inside his sink hole brain. A rusted through windchime without wind. In the maelstrom of a radical-rancid-rain. Joe the withered tiger in the gloaming of life. Thinks he's still sniffing daisies. That have long ago turned into knives...