summer 2008

the howling of the wolves
from deep down
emerging unbeknownst
ever again

I sleep like a child, waking up to my own voice
sobbing,
trying to trace the floating fragile images of a dream that is quickly
escaping my consciousness. i calm down and listen to the cold outside,
rehearsing to creep through the cracks in my windows and walls, like
ivy crawling up the walls of time.
I can hear her breathe I can touch her back she is real and she is there so I can go back to sleep.
Outside the wolves are howling
and the wind is whisteling
and the thoughts are tormenting
and the feelings are invading
and everything is in shambles and shatters and fragments
the whole of the story has slipped and broke
in thousand renditions it harms my soul
with every howl it comes closer
brings that dark moon ever so close
shivering cries in the dark
echoing in the light of it..s frowning grin
fowl scents of rotten flesh wounds
catering to their needs
hurt, hurt, hurt they scream
Johnny Cash sings hurt
I cuddle deeper into the blanket
mingle my feet with hers
think of the refuge to come
of painting to be painted
of stories to be written
of nights to be spent
alone