wolf moon

my greedy boy,
my lupus irascatur,
how you howled at us all.

and the wolf moon rose in
the wintry sky not
too long ago and reigned.

we all stood beneath
you, did we not, and
listened to your yawp,

your bellicose bray,
when your teeth
hurt you and you wept.

Neil Peart died recently,
my brother, so to hell
with it all, frankly.

did i tell you i walk
every day and i see your
canines carving the flesh?

that i still hear the songs,
i still witness the musculature of
the mayhem you flexed

into my life, that when i
feel like shit the first person
i want to call is you?

you're in the sky tonight,
my pulchra animalis,
my agent of native skies.

someone could have told me
how much this sucks;
someone could have warned me.

you show up in my night
skies, my days of dreams,
and perch on all fours.

you breathe on me and
remind me how much
light you shed.

you make me cry abandoned,
and you leave me standing
like you did years before.

i went to a meeting this
week, did i tell you?
where they talked about you.

and on my ride home
afterwards, it pissed me
off that i never told you.

get out of my sky,
wolf moon. stop following
me into my abyss.

i love you, and i
miss what i missed,
and what i didn't.

my anima mea,
my bad memory,
my great hope.

tell me a dirty joke,
read to me again from
Tolkien, then leave me.

alone.