The Moon...

The moon is a bone,
Hard and white, bright;
Pointing the way...
As bones do.
Enduring,
Indestructible,
Irrevocable.

The moon is a belly,
Round, rising,
Swollen to the full
With the promise
Of tides and rhythyms
Racing to the sea.

Under the moon,
The bone white belly of the moon,
I howl;
A sharp silhouette
On the jagged ridge of consequence.
A she-wolf
Crying for her lost soul...mate,
Calling for her mongrel litter of results.

She prowls, wide-eyed,
The harsh, stark landscapes of the heart;
Listens, intent,
To the wind's whisper of change
Sighing among the shadows of the soul.

Lopes down
Off the moral high ground
And bloodies her fangs
Feeding the pups of her needs.

The moon bleeds.