You timid hunters,
Wander lost,
Won't
ever
hunt like me.
Armed with paper bow
and lead arrow, stalking
the silent
beast of eloquence

Nocturnal,
she prefers dismal
moonless nights
rain
to wash away
the clouds in the eyes.
She is fickle. More
clever than me, more
clever than you.

But I know her
well
and she knows me

through the night I venture
having slept away
terrors of day,
I see a spot of moon fall
bathing in
soft milky white
the one
true,
the majestic

With steady hand
I drive
my point
through Her heart

Make Her Mine
Trap Her soul
on white pages
in black ink

In my yard
all alone, I'll read the page
once,
just once, smoking
a stick
and set fire
to it,
having saved her from
traps and snares of
lesser poets...
Having saved her from
corrupting eyes of
lesser humans...

I finish the stick
imagine myself
smoke in the night