Song of the Starved Soul

This life is killing off

the instinctual wolf, forcing her

 

to please others. She howls

at the moon, the guide

 

to a long night of longing for her

instincts to stay sharp. 

 

The primitive is being

Lost. The woman is now

 

a thing just stuffed

in some old forgotten note. 

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The Stuff of Nightmares

Listen. The echoes of childhood are statues
filigreed with the filth of the earth.
 
The ground here is unhealthy, and the night is
Haunted. The dead just keep on working. 
 
Here are the sculptures of mostly good
dreams which did not come true.