That is not a typo ...

the story before
april 9, 2009

don’t know if i’ve told you this story before,
probably have:

it’s the one that begins in the jungle
with the succulent flowers,
the carnivorous flowers –
the ones that find you succulent –
it’s the story that begins in the
fragile spaces between the lion’s teeth.

you remember, right?

it’s the story told in greens so vivid
they’ll eat you alive from the inside out
and reds so sweet they sing four-part
harmony, the story told in tangerine
and lemon and fruits unnamable.
In the end, all the colors have pooled
into muddy puddles, and nothing
but black and white drips
from the jaws of the lion.

you know?

it’s the one where i was the hero and
you were the damsel in distress,
or maybe i was the hero in distress
and you the damsel who rescued me from
the crippling heights of my delusions.
you cradled my head in your arms,
lullabied me with A-weeema-weh
and the lion slept that night indeed.

i don’t know if i’ve told you this before,
probably have:

it’s the story about the fear
that is not my own, the courage
I held on loan, the love
we might have known. it is the
story before the story before
the story i’ve told you before,
unkempt and untamed, feline
and feral. it is the story that begins
in the jaws of the lion and
ends in the middle of a