The Bones Beneath

This.

Taming is not an act;

It is not tarpaulin over the head

Nor glitter blinding the eyes.

Taming is in this, as it is in you.

To be tame is to see

All, but to have more left to see.

It is rubbing your arms

Sore with stony stares and cash-in-hand cares.

To tame is to own.

To be on your own.

The whip is in your own

Hand as you finger the Sunday Paper.

Tame animals still bite down

But their gums are worn down.

That you know to look down

Is what’s getting you down.

Are you getting this down?