Claws Mark the Doors

ct-ct-tl-coyote07.jpg-20130213

 

Once I wrote to flee,

now I simply erase;

still, they intrude,

like cats crying

for fish at my feet.

They will not go away:

avarice, decay, lies—

all ubiquitous as air.

 

Explanation’s weight

allows no time to think,

nor decipher machinations.

The charms of language

no longer protect me from

fangs slavering in the street.

 

(August 12, 2018)

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