Between curled talons, a mouse writhes
Blood and fur and feathers mix
They are blood-brothers
Only one will live to savor
Their wonderful union

Before us, sights and scents and sounds
We never imagined existed
Behind us, the winters of doubt
The bone-dry ache of yearning

It is gone, now
Replaced with window eyes
And hooked beaks and bad dreams
And hallways that do not stop
No matter how fervently you pray
Or how much you run

Tired of running?
You'll be alone one day
And feel our cool touch
On your quivering arm
Your black world will go white
Your stallion moods will be broken
With needles and sedation

Rage is in season
It pulses between splayed fingers
Like a hungry, hungry heart
Valves connected to every minor irritation
And betrayal and calamity
Pumping away the essence until
One is only a puppet
With red eyes and hawk feet

The breeze smells of sulfur
And the river runs like coagulated blood
It isn't real
And yet
We find ourselves wanting
To believe it is
Our little secret
You can see it too?

Here in your neck of the woods
We cry ourselves to sleep
And dig ourselves too deep
It wasn't meant to go this far
To be so very ugly
But we looked through the eyes of the predator
And adored what we saw

Madness is in season
We'll harvest this endless crop
Until we can move no more
Every last portion of you
Is ours to enjoy

But then the birds come
And pick us apart
And carry us away

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed