“Tête d homme barbu à la cigarette 1”
(Head of a bearded man with cigarette 1) by Pablo Picasso (1964)
The
jaguar's really just empty sacks of dead skin that’s diseased, limping on incredulous
force
The
jaguar is a bitch
An
ultimate testament to bitch-hood
These
are species of bitches celebrated for their capacity to be the bitch
To
one another
In
their jungle or another
There
are plenty to prey to
Or to bitch
upon
Fetch
from the green horizon
A
baby to receive the hood’s treatment
The
jaguar is never seen at night
As the
sun takes a tumble
A
humble bashing takes place, compliments of the moon
A
jaguar is never seen without a companion, for every single jaguar needs a
companion
Says
the crazy man on the radio
Blasted
from your speakers, a sticker
In
the form of the jaguar
Leaps
from its two-dimensional existence
Out
onto the fields of burnt grass
Which
makes it hay
Does
it
Not
really know... who a bitch is even
However flamboyant
However creative with false truths and half-truths
Come
forward, please
The
firing squad has bullets to spare
The
heart
But
the brain is never guaranteed, for there is never insurance for psychological goods
There
is the truth
To be
fucked within
Never
test the temperature of a bitch’s throat
For
the throat is a breeding ground
Where the jaguar is a regular at that
