The Pornographer's Hyena

The pornographer's hyena dies

in a loveless lair

and I couldn't care less.

He was a thieving liar.

Desire;

a snatch of flesh,

his leering mouth

could never catch,

by darkness skulking

where big cats knew

rutting grasses' easy death,

he stole his scrap

of gut and laughed,

his hide would be

no obscene grunt,

the mortal peril of each hunt,

beneath his capabilities,

his mirror lined,

he rolled in blood.

They found him dead,

far from the pride,

the singing vultures

pecked his head,

the jackals laughed,

the fluffer cried,

the lions lapped red stains off paws,

a scavenger fired,

with good cause.