I'm under the spell of your dark eyes' gaze, your gray shaggy hair and your feral smile. I'd rip off your clothes with my sharp front teeth. Come to my lair, and stay awhile. The dogs follow me, 'cause they know I'm in heat. But it's you I want, and I'm on the prowl. The electric current sends a siren call-- I know where you are. I can hear you HOWL. I run in the night, through the crowded dark street; I run to the rhythm of the pounding hearts' beat, to the edge of the cliff, where my love and I will meet.
When the Lone Ranger has his finger on his gun's trigger, he constantly has to pull it. When the moon is full, he hunts and kills werewolves, that's why he uses silver bullets. He also uses silver bullets to stop outlaws from committing crimes. But he uses those bullets to **** werewolves the majority of the time. A werewolf smashed his way into an innocent man's house. He tore him to pieces and was also going to **** his spouse. The Lone Ranger saved her by putting a silver bullet right between the werewolf's eyes. Whenever he encounters werewolves, he defeats them, each and every one of them dies. A werewolf was about to attack Tonto and he would've ripped him apart. But the Lone Ranger killed the werewolf by shooting him through the heart. Silver was the Lone Ranger's horse until a werewolf ate him and he was also going to eat Scout. But the Lone Ranger woke up in time to save Tonto's horse and he blew the werewolf's brains out. Whenever a werewolf tangles with the Lone Ranger, his life comes to an end. When the moon is full, the Lone Ranger kills werewolves with silver bullets and he always wins.
riled in slumber her face fevered cussed about the terrain of a floral breeding bedding patterns and the print bunched in struggles in smudges an amateur trial with sisters makeup primal cosmetics make a mock daubed ceremony for slumber
dusty and museum are her dollworks an amphitheatre audience overlooming her berth flaunting the gallery shelves sustained expressionist menace Roman eyes and Victorian ridicule stuffed suffering with Ugly Duckling down ****** sawdust and your sullied label they bray and they brawl and they sluice their gull gall a sick drizzle over the sleepers form
from the exterior wild wails the weather its being drubbing peers fragile at the windowpane a raid on this vulnerable sleeper impounded in bedroom aloft raised to meet the jet stream
she is fumbled in dreams...
abraded adolescent swells judder out figments a bleed of vandals siling her muted childhood parading the playground berating old once loved playthings adopting no sympathy adapting in favour of the wild riding will of the direful pre familiar
into the woods...
a ***** charmed breath dressed smartly as boy stoppers her pathway insisting a gentleman's assistance frustrates her recitations of grandmothers doting stern teachings like fragile pottery come to harm broken into teeth the quick blood beating this nocturnal forest busy in heat bonding death to refract the hustling moon
a company of wolves fill out the clearing not a spell too soon their howls reverberate jeering mocking their new glut sifting followers from the raggle-taggle array of fools the foolish dreamers rounded up amongst them she stands red dressed and nervous one hand clasping and sexing the other
fortified a great jaw operates here an excited irresponsible mastication committed to this fairytale
...agitation in her sleep
Inspired by the movie version of The Company Of Wolves
Hour by hour the moon continues to rise. She's way too bright and he's as dark as night. Oh what big lies you live. Why are you both so deceiving? Oh look how hard it is to forgive. Where's your excuse for leaving? Run away, get away before he swallows your sanity. She's built her argument on vanity. You found love in the darkest parts, The place where you can't have a heart. She built it on a dream and a delusion. He grew out of that plot and that illusion. She loved him true, the only love she ever knew. In her safest hour on his dimmest day, all she wanted was for him to pay. He meant no harm and she did no wrong. We know they hurt and they're not strong. Little red, my friend, there is no need to pretend that you didn't know this would eventually end. At least in fact, you're both still intact. You're not the victim and you're not the villain. Both born of moon and light, they would always fight. Now the wolf and red are in separate beds. Their story together is a memory.
Another 2013 poem, written about a toxic relationship my friends were in.
tonight, when the streetlights go on well after dark and the scintillating moon illuminates a painted mural on the star filled night sky behind the junkyard fence, the skin stretches, the blood boils, the hair grows full, the fingernails extend and the human/werewolf transformation is flourishing. the blood soaked moon looks good enough to howl under