Bone chips of the flesh-eating lions
from decaying Roman coliseums
lay buried under the Italian city of fountains.
Column fragments, scrolls, and carved capitols
cover the ground too just below top soil.
The ancient particles of history condemn
and commend at once
The untamed still stalk the earth,
lion-roaring cannibals, wagging their
ill-formed heads with dirty manes on
the streets of every man. Belching
cities with flaming eyes of the night
force feed the jaded monsters from
between the slits of society.
Human flesh is craved.
Fashionistas drape it with silk and satin, wizards
lubricate the skin with creams, and medicine men inject it to
keep it plum and young or alive.
Cannibals devour it, salivate for the
mixed for the masses
that goes down in effervescent heated gulps.
Burnt, bloody or bare. Tender flesh bitten by demons.
The tastes of post-modern, post-God
society are more refined than the Roman coliseums.
Few raw performances. Film is more cultured
and couth. Whipped up by filthy
rich producer-chefs in super-sized portions.
Get yours today, salty and hot,
on the TV or in a theater close to you.
~original from me