A poem from your guest blogger, part 5: “Just Call Me Beastmaster of the Morning.”

Just Call Me Beastmaster of the Morning
My clout sweeps backwards as I run, girded with a sash of garnets.
Sapphires set ablaze by the fire and light of my movement.
And of course I run vertically, dumbass—of course I face forward and down.
Jesus Christ—that’s just the way you do it— not face up or side-saddled,
side-Earthed, if you prefer. So as you draw my extruded arms
and waves and bubbles, my companions remain surprised at my world
into which I am drawn. Listen up, mortals, gather round me
as I caw caw caw while small mammals bite me,
for I am in their wise company, for this Beastmaster
will prepare meal for you. He will assign seating according to your hair.