Richard

I was born a lion,
and have never felt more like a cub than when I gained my mane.

The mane grew robust and golden, a natural reflection
of the natural selection of who gains responsibility, invincibility.

And everyone expects me to keep the pride,
strengthen the pride, make the pride together and strong.

Today I belched long and deep in the throat
and felt like a lion. But being and feeling are not fraternal.

And it's been months since I bit something
until it bled and slept in the warmth of my jaw.

And if I do so soon, will I experience the
same remorseful jolt I've craved and offered for years?

An old man once dreamt of me trotting along
the coasts of Africa, and asked himself what it means to be [a man].

Our jobs

I wish I could tell you that my job doesn't bleed into us.

But when I come home late, squint at words, words, words, and can't see you,
we know the letting has come.

You wish you could tell me that your job doesn't bleed into us.

But when You come home early, mourn over my absence by fucking someone else,
we know the letting has come.

But I can't come home early,
and You can't come home late,
so when's our thicky thick milkshake
gonna turn into an empty wine glass?