she sits in a booth
far back in some corner

panther in the grass

it wouldn't matter
he could smell her perfume
from 40 miles away

& you don't forget her scent and
the way her hair looked like
black sails in the
western wind
soaked within the pale moonlight
of your last days
as a
human being

so how do you really decipher
who hunts who?
a riddle is a riddle is a
never-ending
tirade of unanswered questions
that they never dare
to ask

always watching, always wanting
the ****
& the thrill of it
all

so why does she walk blindly
into the den of wolves
full of loud music and heavy tension
& far, far too much whiskey
knowing full well
this night may be one of her
last?

she didn't seem to mind
when I asked

she smiled from her hospital bed





"oh, honey, he was well worth
the fight."