Many Lions

many are lions as once was I, but now I sit on the porch and swing. As I watch my lives go by. would it be so bad to dream and of dreaming be enclosed in the circular motions of others I once wore a paisley shirt and said goodbye, watching an only ball rolling down the gutter disappearing into the mouth of a sewer. Those empty moments of every life where the thought never occurs Astonishment is what they call it: the unexpected experience a dead zone. the zero. Our heroes always appear in bright spots, hence the halo. I have not seen my blood for a time. It is the red that always remains who we are, where we are, what we are not, it allows the internal to emerge the external to enter more often than not there is fear but when fear comes you must remember that it comes it comes. therefore, it was never really here to begin with. I have tasted wooden spoons when the batter is gone, my tongue brushing the fibers of the wood, it feels good. that curved kernel of popcorn, a golden retina of shell, married to the curve of enamel Artfully bonding to an outside tooth where the tongue cannot dislodge it. I tasted metal lips pressed to mine where water and life emerged. the faucet was my friend. I tasted places where tongues explore and eagerness collapses, touched the velvet back of caterpillars, stroked pollen wings of things more beautiful than I. I have seen the beauty of those things that mount the sky I have slain and lain with things and wondered why. And I have thought. This alone ought to be enough, but we are always and have always been more than enough.