He was caged three days ago
he called he early
upset and disillusional
alone and drunk
he checked himself in
surrendering over
letting the men with the white coats
and the large well polished machine
of metal
wash off the madness

It really was for the best
the buffalo had all gone
scattering wildly
across the wide plains
settled down
with careers
and lifelong goals
to achieve

leaving one behind
restless and rebellious
kicking up mud
trampling the flowers
under heavy hoof
and crazy fire

alive
pure ivory coat
against dull midwestern backdrop

the hunters fell in
around
the last of the great white buffalo
shining golden rifles
a whiff of academia
a slice of the moon

The buffalo grew
struck fear
into the hearts of citizens
through his passionate rumble
and his debacherous scream
rising into the sky
fading with the fog

roaming the gutters
raining from the sky
stealing the hearts
of young girls
who knew better

When the great western shows
pitched their ornamented tents
tainted with biblical fare
they wanted to give the buffalo
his own show
playing the pipes
sitting on a barstool
drinking whiskey
telling dirty jokes

The last of the great white
extremely mad buffalo
grew suspicious
of men with tophats
and their intent
He grew bitter of carnival barkers
and Vaudevillian contortionists

It was the dawn of the age of the silent movie actress

It was bright and glorious
the day the last great buffalo took a run for it
when he saw the peverse pleasure
look deep in the eye
of the audience
so he charged
flying through the heart
of the crowd
shredding Sunday best
chewing umbrellas
stomping strong
the skulls
of beauracracy

He flew ever onward
evaporating into steam
rising into legend
whispered on the lips of children

The last of the great white
extremely mad buffalo
had gone insane
or had it been the world
that beat him to it

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