Litkicks Message Board Archive

The Nature of Wolves

Posted to Poetry

I dreamt of predicate symbols, and you,
and woke, shivering and feverish,
to a dark cluttered room
in grey February's afternoon
Found my arm lying across my chest,
a yellow strip between my breasts
neon in the gloom
guarding me from you while I slept

Still the new moon in Mexico
was many days ago now. I shouldn't think
anything could get through,
none of your shape-shifting brethren
especially not you
weakest of them all
lamb in wolves clothing

There is something to be said for fleece,
you know. It has not the harsh
nap of fur, always willing you
one way, and not the other.

But the nature of wolves
is not one to digress upon.
Hard to guess what either of us
would do, faced with
a real wolf
slim, sleek, silver without fuss,
no trace of the primal erased
Neither logical nor beautiful

Neither are you, yet you stick
to my mind, like honey
on the fingers of a thieving