Lupus in fabula

Rough, red, tooth and eye

Both ragged, raging, hot breath

Like the dead heart magically,

Manically pulsing out an end of

Reason, shame, love and life.

The last day of standing, last

Of giant shoulders, and the

Triumph of witless, soulless

Dwarfs and their wolf, their

Fat, ignorant and angry dog

Of the day of the dead, their

Final card and our losing hand.

For All

There was a dream of love that fell asleep
When the doors were flung open to lying,
Tongue-lolling beasts intent on devouring
The heart of the world itself when all the
Fruits are gone, digging deep in her veins
Like a wild and mad, murderous needle.
A brand new day born falling into night,
Under a dark moon dead in a black sky.
This is how it feels, like a happy marriage
Suddenly marred by violence, a spouse
Gone over the brink into babbling, blind
Stabbing, bruises and beatings, the signs
Were there but it’s much too late now.
Everything is out of control, all is lost, fire
In every open window and smoke thick
As tar numbing and dumbing every sense.
We know how to recover, perseverance,
Resistance, losses, rebuilding, the ashes
Of the Earth still fruitful enough to flower.
But we live in shrill and constant fear
Not knowing how long, how hard, and
Whether there will be fruit enough for all.

Despite (for Amy G.)

Despite the sunrise, the moon peacefully adrift,
And the matching slow swell of the deep ocean,
All of life is sometimes reduced to the little rituals
Of ends and darkness — burning, breaking, loss
In words and the gestures of a dance as old worlds
Long gone before this little one’s birthstone began.
Our lists are circular as the strings of mementos
Hung ’round our necks, every end returning to start,
Bell tolling like a sentinel at daybreak and nightfall.
Despite all this, despite even death, life swells,
Is warm and green and gold, and keeps its quiet promise.