Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Baying at the Moon by Jack Henry

she’s down the hall
that laugh of youth
- of getting laid at will
- of running nights w/o exhaustion
- of chasing dreams too big
too real and too close to be
a lie

memories flash fiction
she smiles into mirrors
w/o rejection

wolves bay at hallowed moons
her scent thick
they cry at the call
of her cunt

we would shoot them
one by one but perhaps
it’s best they take her

night would be quiet
and i might actually sleep

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