THE WEREWOLF HANGS IN SPACE

The werewolf hangs in space
like a mossy cobweb
stars glimmering through eyeholes —
demon jewels —
closing in
through some violation of dimensions
checkmating the averages
till I feel warm breath on my neck —
Savage, your reek is at the outmost!
Your heel stamps my name on the pavement.
I look like smoke filtered through blood
whatever sees the light through me
must stand the long trial
Who wants to eat those apples
you all want to come up
but you don't want to drink my cup
wouldn't myself if I could've helped it
but I had no choice
signed sealed and delivered
like a hot dog on a stick
I ate my doom
in the youthful folly of time
and now I'm slowly
wretching it all back
like the stamp machine in the supermarket store
of the parking meters
punching out time
along the august avenues of the sun.