Scientists call me the “ground
lion”
And ogle the transposing hues
Yet few zoom beyond my inward (eye),
Where colors don’t belie
With theatrics
For your
entertainment
I could be your slow motion
acrobat
My forked feet tight-rope narrow branches
I could be the camouflage ring master
Splaying fury in pointillist panther stripes
Across my pelican chin and abdomen
I could fly the dangle trapeze
With swaying gait and prehensile tail
I could clown my ancient crest with swiveling eyes
Like gun turrets and fire an extrudable tongue
For your entertainment
Yet I wait to be recognized
For the proprium in my (eye)s
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