Tiger Hunger by Allan Gould


A flame cursed his eyes
but nothing ends there.
A cautious step or two…
a heart
fresh in tiger nostrils.

waiting in the undergrowth
is fun for tiger-hunger,
waiting in the sullen rain,
waiting in the sounds
it understands,
taking refuge without
moral nor principle;
on Tiger hunger.

Biting gut
teeth sharpened by licks.
As a long insidious
form slides past
scrub and thorn
fire-back liquid
in motion

in a low dark
blood dried,
What knows tiger hunger well?
Who knows ghosts battling will?
What knows machines of the heart?

Tiger hunger met by force of steel, of love
across its fiery neck.
It went bravely in voice
collapsing like a ruined kingdom
that pressed its will outward – too far.
Taking with it
a purpose no axe can slacken.
In passion it fell dead in the dust.
And never once churned complaint.


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