Bear Maw

Bear maw biting prideful Sky.

Clouds taunting, sitting on its nose,

tongue too slow to lap the moisture,

maybe before, jaws clenched the salmon skies,

holes punched on the ever-extending mussel shell.

Bear maw sighing, not roaring.

asphalt binding paws,

buried by rotted flesh, grey and ghastly,

not like the rich jealousy and love that encrusted before,

white hot chords resonate year round,

a new hide introduces itself, pale as an insomniac’s cigarette, not as the Ice’s patient slumber.

says it’s ‘here to stay’,               held at gunpoint?

Poacher primes the rifle, finger always resting on the trigger.

Bear maw nipping at degraded Sky.

Wind running thick wire through old cavities with shaking hands.

Cloud crying charcoal.

clamped paw with a blackened tongue too slow to speak;

sour taste stuck on a still palette.

seems as though just one second passed, stuck peering through a barrel.