“Steal this Thief of the Night”
Doesn’t it feel wondrous to lie,
to cheat, to cast to steel?
The cold heart of conviction venison,
the voluptuousness of steel bars:
she is a raven,
fleeting in the scalding night,
fleeing a cast-iron frying pan
to destroy your face,
your fate tacky as the crackle of a panther running wild,
through streets of icicle shackles
and as it is some sort of purity,
both wondrous and genuine,
which doth plague and placate us?
Like the plaque of a spittoon?
Grizzly bear fangs?
This is the last time
I shall ever wear a wolf suit.
Leave my shadows alone.
nicholauspatnaude 