ferocious as a fever,
my fervor haunts me.
devourer of the excess;
a true glutton consummately.
my craving impetus,
but who am i to impugn?

roused by my sin,
a prisoner of desire.
never embracing the retribution for vice,
i lie and confess;
the reckoning of my awakening
not steeling the growl of my stomach.

far from decorous,
but in good taste,
i am a man of hunger,
of foul intent;
no fowl could curb my voracity.
gluttony never settled for appetizers.

i’m haunted by her beauty.
i suppose it’s not natural to write about the ghosts
that reside in your home,
but that’s why they call it the supernatural, right?
or, perhaps it’s superficial;
i don’t even know her name.

i rent a modest cabin deep in the woods,
surrounded by only the wildlife.
i have no neighbors,
but that’s fine,
as the residence is rumored to be haunted;
i’ll have plenty of company.

the house-warming party toasted to good spirits,
however, none of those are here;
i appreciated the gesture anyway.
there’s a scream when a light bulb bursts in the kitchen.
at least i found humor in the play on words.

dear mockingbird,
what made you swear silence?
it’s unlike your species to become selective mutes,
or, perhaps,
is it because you’ve tired of your sole performance?
you’ve become a broken record,
stuck on repeat:
the same song and dance.
you didn’t know what else to sing,
didn’t know any other tune.
this will become your swan song.

i ****** handfuls of sand
and envisage i am an hourglass.
i enumerate the seconds in my head,
but my fingers leak more grains
than i can keep pace with,
far too fleeting to be unerring.
this nonsuccess only induces me
to think of time and its relativity;
of a man who complains that it’s only tuesday,
of a man who complains that it’s already tuesday.
i dub my left hand frank,
and my right jacob,
then wonder why it’s still monday.

a blood-dyed string of destiny unites us,
from end to hematic end.
i dance and strafe,
to and fro,
skirring the breath-thin thread.
it’s not til’ i’m entangled
that i discern the red is my own alone.
my place in this web i apperceive,
while you perch upon the heart of the now gossamer,
like the right widow you are.

stray dog,
please stop begging.
i could afford to feed you once,
and i vowed not once more.

stray dog,
please stop returning.
i can’t afford the pet deposit,
and i can’t leave you a place outside to sleep.

stray dog,
please don’t get excited,
as i load you into a carrier in the car,
and i head to the nearest shelter.

stray dog,
you are lost and seeking a home,
and i’m protecting you from the place
you think you’ve grown to know.

colby,
i hear that’s what you go by now.
i hope your forever home treats you well;
i’m moving next week.

what is a wolf but teeth?
do we blame the creature, or the extension used?
what is prey but inspiration?
do we blame instinct, or the act of running?
claws are to sinew, as the hunt is to temptation;
do not fault a predator for its true purpose.
prey left without culling will eat themselves dry;
a necessary evil instilled in the cycle of life to assure balance.
however, what is a predator without prey?
hunters left without game will cave to survival;
first the weak, then the young, then...
when it’s down to the last two wolves,
think not of temptation, of inspiration
think of teeth, of survival:
life to the predominant.
it has always been, always will be.
when you see a lone wolf,
do not pity it;
know nature has selected the strongest.

before things get rash,
we should run.
but one of us is dead,
and one of us has no legs.

so,
maybe i went overboard.
maybe i already got rash.
maybe i messed it all up,
but we can still fix this.

i wait for you to chide me like you always do,
but all you do is bleed out.
i wait for you to get back up like you always do,
but all you do is lie there.
i wait for you to fix everything like you always do,
but you’re not chiding me,
and you’re not getting up,
and you’re not fixing
everything.

you can’t really expect to get out of this just like that, can you?

you can’t get away,
i’ve made certain of that.
i made sure you would stay here right next to me,
just like always, but baby,
it doesn’t feel like always.

before the sirens of an ambulance come cat-calling your body,
before they steal you from me, promise:
“to love and to cherish, until parted
by death.”
i can’t hear you, dear, that thief’s sonorous chorus resounds;
you’ll have to speak up.
because we can still run, we can still get away from this town,
we can still steal your father’s beat-up pick-up truck and run away,
just like the songs.

honey, don’t you get it?
we’ll always be together,
“‘til death do us part,”
you swore it yourself.

well, i’m not dead yet,
but the paramedics lift you into the back of that **** ambulance,
while i’m loaded into the back of a cop car.

we are still bound by our vows.