Doing a decade-in-review sort of thing with my journals and thought I’d share this tidbit of poetry I wrote a few years ago:
This is the thing we ride,
a snarling black panther,
tongue ready to lash, maw dripping spittle,
gnawing the head off dolls.
We collar it,
spiked leather digging into flesh.
Still it snarls,
craving to be unleashed
to dive out the window into the light.