Monday, November 23, 2009

a wolfs towel

a wolfs towel

i see my headless trunk,

cold and weary,

an ill expanse of years

without play,

through the hot brume of an

aging mirror.

rusty tissue and sinew droop

over rigid organs

that frame my damp form.

but I hold

a wolfs towel.


hardwearing stones

tear the fear from my hide

peeling away my hesitation,


a fetching fellow.

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