The Howling

The Howling

Moon speaks:

“Wolf sleeps.
With my hand , I can roll him awake.
See the dreams I have planted within his head,
at midnight they will sprout.

“Hear me , Wolf.
I wake you.
Here I am, Wolf,
the woman.
It is time to let your fears go to sleep
and dream of flowers, sunsets and me.”

When closing my eyes
there comes a blackness.
I search it in every corner,
then I find her.
She talks to me.
Her lips move
she grins,
and then fades.
I search for her
she returns
somewhere else.

There is a street where we all once lived
with a single green light down the street
and around the corner.
Her mouth
her face
and body move
water flows
deep and continuous in the ocean.
She laughs.
I can’t hear,
only see
every thing turn black.

I draw a moth,
a hawk
dusty brown wings
never moving
life to paper.
It dies in light.
It comes to suckle the dream syrup
the nectar of light,
just before it’s caught in the fan
and spit out the window.
Wolf came to me,
long crazy black hair
dancing around his mouth.
“Why do you care what they think?
They only drain you of life.
Find those that give
by giving nothing to you,
but yourself.
Love those as you are,
not as you want to be.
Leave the acting for the Actors.

One must learn the first rule:
Always think for yourself,
keep control over your life,
the latter is the hardest part.”

Depression comes in many ways:
a laugh pushed out, unfelt,
a wish:
one person to trust,
who won’t turn and hurt.
there’s a feeling I get
when I kill my memories,
a hunger deep in my stomache
for the hearts of my enemies.
Each face is different.
Each dream
crossed and changed.
Each time I go in and out of sleep.

Grief always returns
with the revolving days.
The Cree spat out their pains at Moon.
The pains always returned with the coming of Sun,
but at least they got some sleep.

“Dreams take pain’s place.
Perhaps the spirit of some great howl
lays coiled up inside
carving it’s patterns on our hearts.
“Breasts enforce this unconscious circle,
the beginning of life,
the suffering.”

You, who can not forgive:
I no longer listen to you.
I care not for your truths,
your petty rights and wrongs.
Snakes breed in my dreams
twisting themselves around my neck and arms.
The venom drives me insane.
I eat snake tonight;
fangs embed themselves in eye sockets.
Man is vain in his destruction.
He thinks he is right.
He wants you to be and think like him.
If you don’t,
you are hurting his pride;
that is the sin of the child.

And now under direct responsibility,
I set my finger under your nose.
God fearing Woman Beater,
I return your favor:
I spit back.
I eat the prickly clinging fruit of the Hounds Tongue.

each day
your light
walks down
the arrow shaft.
Spiders make me hungry,
I have eaten them before.
They leave webs in my stomache,
which I am forced to spit out
and run to my den to heal
singing songs of green pastures
spread across your skin.
I want to understand the miracle
of your presence here beside me
in my dream.
I want to hear the whole story
of how you came here.
Flaring in laughter,
her tongue touches mine.


‘I’ve grown tired’ he said
as he packed the last of his things
leaving the rest for scavengers.
Material things were not of the spirit
nor of the heart.
and both had seemed to be drained.

He caught the next bus out,
he spoke of dreams,
and nightmares.
but these things we all knew were just words
to gives us explanations
and hide from himself the real reason:
A woman.

“a lady,’ he corrected with a smile.
‘and yes, maybe it is as you say,
but I was born a gypsy and the road calls me.
It is probably where I’ll die
young and a laugh quaking out from my mouth.’

As he said over the phone.
‘Oh I might be hiding the true reasons,
but the only thing that knows the truth is god.
and when the time comes we’ll work it.

Mother, I see you in the eyes of all:
the breeze through the leaves:
the words of wisdom
as you made us sit and listen to your lectures
knowing all to well
I’d have to make the same mistakes you did,
if not more;
until, I come to realize,
what you were saying was damn clever.
It wasn’t hard to see.
Let’s blame it on Coyote!
He tricked us again.

Every woman is a mother,
a sparkle in the eye,
but each is unique,
a separate star shining brightly up in the sky.
So I do not look to replace you,
only love in the way you taught me:
with compassion, trust and virtue;
and of course,
with the innocence and laughter of the universe.

“I get so tired sometimes.”
he blurted out as he walked through the door-frame
of his 12 by 12 apartment.

“Of what?” inquired Name-Giver’s voice,
cutting through the chatter of the city’s life.

“That wasn’t meant for anybody.”

“Well you threw a stone into the water,”
Name-Giver remarked.
“When it hits, you’re going to get sound,
and of course a wave.”

Wolf stopped in his tracks, gazed around.
His black coal eyes peered about the room,
until they rested on the shape of Name-Giver,
sitting in the torn and frayed chair
which sat in the corner of his 12 by 12.
Her face ever changing from old to young and back to old again.
“Well,” He sighed “I’m tired of trying.”
He sat on the floor in front of her.
“It seems so useless.”

“Silly.” She laughs. Her hand pushes the hair out of his face.
“Is it that you are tired of trying,
or just afraid to?”

The headlights of a car passing his window,
reflects off his stained teeth
as he grins at her wisdom.
“So maybe I am afraid, or just cautious.”

“Could they not be called the same,
and defined by the same definition?
Caution is just a more controlled fear.”

“These things were told to me,
in a past life, a past longing.”

“Maybe you should’ve listened.
Maybe you should put both feet in the water,
instead of just your big toe.”

Wolf stood up,
began pacing the floor in front of Name-Giver,
stopping now and again
to crack open the curtains and glance out the window.
“Don’t you think I should finish building the house first?”

“I didn’t mean dive in head first, dingbat.
Always the reaction.
Go slow. Test the waters.
That is why I said both feet.
You need to walk through the shallow end,
so you can get a feel of the water
which you have chosen to swim through.”

The Hunt
All day we hunted, but found nothing.
All night we hunted.
Finally I stop, turn and naively ask.
“What are we hunting for?”
“I’m hunting for a man.”
“And what am I?”
“a Wolf”

All day we hunted, but found nothing.
All night we hunted.
Pausing in my stride,
I turn to her.
“What am I hunting for?”
“The earth, the moon, the sun and the stars.”
“You tell me;
I hunt man because my flesh is hungry.”

All day we hunted, but found nothing.
All night we hunted.
I stopped.
“Why do I not hunt you?”
“Because I hunt man
and you do not like the taste of his flesh.”

A little further
a spring bubbled up from the roots of an old oak.
She hesitates there.
Se knelt down on her knees,
dips her hands into the cool water
and drinks.

She reaches her cupped hands out before me.
” Here, drink.”
As the crisp water touched my chapped lips,
the morning sun shines down her blouse,
and the man rises within me.
I fell to the earth,
chatted with the moon,
dreamed of the sun,
as I danced among the stars.
It is hard to follow.

Name Giver whispered in my ear.
“when you don’t know where you’re going
and the want is always there.
It pulls in ways you may not comprehende;
however you are weak,
a slice of what you could be.
Remember that.”

All day we hunted, but still nothing.
All night we hunted.
The Huntress turns and naively asks.
“What are you hunting for?”
“A mate.”
“Why not hunt me?”
“Because you hunt man
and I will not;
for in hunting man,
it is not me you see,
but yourself.
Hunt yourself as you would me.”

All day we hunted, nothing.
All night we hunted.
She halts, and glances over at me.
“Why do not hunt for a She-Wolf?”
“Because it is not my stomache that is hungry,
but my spirit.
Isn’t that why you hunt,
you want something that isn’t before you?
A contemptible tower.”

All day we hunted.
All night we hunted.
She tarries,
reaches out and stops me.
“Do you secretly hunt me?”
“Sometimes I have.
Is it not the best hunt for the hunter,
to hunt the Huntress?
but I do not go for the kill.”

The Hunt pt. 2
Wolfesque, we dance some mating dance.
We stroll around in a circle,
growling but not jumping in to a straight out brawl;
sizing up each others weaknesses and dominance.
Your hair stands straight up on the back of your neck and I,
my teeth showing a full grin and
my stance at full warning,
restrained myself from attack.
While you persist in your approach,
forcing the issue of a statement.
I continue to back away
not wanting to fight,
not sink my teeth
into your responsive fire bread flesh.
Your words snip at me,
I just growl and retreat.
you snip again,
and leave your teeth marks on my heart; however, I still only growl and withdraw.
Sometimes I wonder,
What is going on between us?

A gypsy girl stands before me.
A dark wave of sense
full dark eyes
which search me.

Clothed in shadows
her flesh recalls
the thrill of hunting wasps
on a raw hot tin roof.

Wasps gather around
clutching fingers
twisters on a gnat covered field.

I’m sorry, I’m wasted.
I can’t deal with this.
I’ll think about it in the morning,
when I wake up.