by Dianne Butler
The velour jaguar chants
like a rapper at a jam session,
devouring his words like blood pudding.
Rhizomes root on the ground
when an elderly alarm refuels his passion.
The retch of the street,
true to their way
eat their rusk and chew on the meaning,
wondering if it isn’t all a bluff.
Wise were they at that soiree of games,
swiping a wisp of language to take home,
a buzz of secrets spooling off their tongues,