#3


The Demon Wolf

it was like the wolf in the story
first it grew inside of grandmother
a tiny thing with fangs and rough fur
making her bleed
then it grew larger and spread to anther place
the woodsman tried to cut it out but it left him rocking on the floor
wailing, with his head in his hands
he staggered into the night crying that there were demons
he was right but i hated him for saying it
finally it grew so big it ate her
i got down on my knees and asked it to eat me too

she was as tiny as a child lying in my arms inside of it
the smell was foul and i tried to breathe through my mouth
our skin and hair were slick with blood and entrails
i waited for the woodsman to come and rescue us
but he was long gone
staggering to his mother's bed

grandmother turned to me and whispered
"darling, what are you doing here? you do not belong here"
"come with me," i said
her eyes suddenly flashlights in the gloom of its belly
i saw her smile and shake her head
"everything will be all right"
she gestured to her body
"except for this
go now"
at the last moment i took my axe called poetry
and cut my way out
the demon wolf dissolved around her
but she was gone
i bathed her body and kissed her cheek and dressed her in fresh linen
i buried her in the garden
where the red roses grow
and no demons are allowed, no more








Comments

  • Exitonpch Tuesday, 04 September 2012

    thank you, Imogen

    thank you, Imogen

  • starwhisper Thursday, 30 August 2012

    03. cocooned in the wolf i feel tiny. my hair swim...

    03.cocooned in the wolfi feel tiny.my hair swims inglittering guts & the purewarmth makes me thinkof mermaids.i’ve never felt this pretty,this small before,even in the arms of a manwho is supposed to be mysavior. when that forlornfuckface, moping, cuts me outof this rancid, heavy haveni will be reborn an insignificant butterflyand his every clumsy touchwill sting my tender membranesand crush my new-formed wings.

  • Imogen Saturday, 25 August 2012

    I keep coming back to the first three lines of thi...

    I keep coming back to the first three lines of this poem. Its beautifully structured and I like the elliptical intellectualism of 'ritualized viscera or cross-cultural mythological pollination'

  • Lulu Rose Wednesday, 22 August 2012

    This comment has been removed by the author.

  • Yajaira Tuesday, 21 August 2012

    (Late T_T) Her tears tasted of smoke when the to...

    (Late T_T) Her tears tasted of smokewhen the touched your tongue the hissed and burned down into youHer agony scrambled your brain andmade you question your sanitybut you couldn't help but want to kiss away her tearsto console her moans and screamsto make her pain your own and let her consume you.

  • victoria lee Tuesday, 21 August 2012

    day 3 - doctor blind (title is undecided, currentl...

    day 3 - doctor blind (title is undecided, currently the title of an emily haines song)I.the smell of almond coconut lingered on the bed sheets, her perfumeteasing like the frosting on freshly baked cake out of the oven he fantasized of their night from hours before, the electrifying room ina club somewhere down in the glitz and glam of Hollywoodin her delicate champagne colored dress that signaled pure decadence an 'opposite attract' to his gritty gunmetal appearance, empty shot of whiskey beside himshe affected him like a drug, both comforting and stimulating, with an incredible highand a longing comedown the next morning, but his angel-dusted dealer was outII.she was only experienced best full of ecstasy, only living in exaltationafraid to fall into the come down of analysis, "I want to live in life, rather than outside of it" she would tell him when he asked her to slow downdirt-knotted hair and unwashed thrift dresses, she douses herself in sephoraperfume sample is in her bag and gives the bouncer a ten dollar bill for the nightshe's at oblivion and then back to zeroIII.her days were prescribed, living in terms of diagnostic phrasingof appropriate words, precise movement and imitation a Hollywood debutante, where it's more acceptable to be aremote less blonde with a pill addiction than to be alive and care

  • Imogen Monday, 20 August 2012

    Red part2 (an almost true story) Next time, if it...

    Red part2 (an almost true story)Next time,if it is a matter of choice, if itis a matter of context,I requestLet me play the wolf.I will bear blood on my clawsnot my thighs. No huntsman will find mecatch me sleeping, crawlinto my bed.No huntsman, no knives,no hands on skinover my mouth,no red,no ever after.

  • Molli Gould Monday, 20 August 2012

    Little Prince you arrived at my door like a lost c...

    Little Prince you arrived at my doorlike a lost child, eyelashes webbed with tears.I understand the loss of a planet, but you have its oceans in your eyes, its laughing stars.I want to be cared for like your Rose and I want to hold you in my arms like a comet.We could travel light years. Lost children washed ashore like the sea shells.Still we'd find eachother again and againwherever we fell, carried away, driftedcircling around again we'd plant and tend to each other, gathering ourselves up into a bouquet of flowers. ~Molli G.

  • Ashley Elizabeth Monday, 20 August 2012

    If wishing on stars actually worked I'd have m...

    If wishing on stars actually worked I'd have millions of books and long flowing hair I'd live in the forest, surrounded by magic and love without fear but I sorely reminded that in the morning the wolf is still in my room waiting for meto try and start my daylocked inside its belly unable to escape but one evening, those stars began to falland I wished on the very first I sawand woke the next morning alone--the sun shining.

  • Krista Monday, 20 August 2012

    in the past, i would have held your fragile frame ...

    in the past, i would have heldyour fragile frame close tomine as the woodsman hackedaway at the feeble skinand fur that protected usfrom the elementsin the past, i would havereassured youwith a whisper and a kissbefore transforming intoa near grown wolf pup,tearing out his chestdevouring his heart andfeeding you the restbut now i survivealone in a silent forest north of the village whereit always snows and themoon never visitsi stand in a dark kitchenstaring beyond a windowwaiting for a small,sickly child in red to trudgedown the overgrown pathbringing a basket of breadbut the child never comesand in the evening i’llhave built the courageand hunger to bake my own

  • Jenn Monday, 20 August 2012

    This Place Is Not For Us 1.The Secret Plan there...

    This Place Is Not For Us1.The Secret Planthere is space for both of us herethis place is not for us but there is roomwe are hugged by all the other digested creaturesin the belly of this monsterthis soul-eaterbut if we don't move we could hide here foreverthere is no need to breathe fresh airwe could just pass it back and forth this breathfrom my mouth to yoursyours to minewe could learn to get by in hereno one would suspect our survival we'd be a tragicending in their eyes but they don't know you can trick the wolfit can be doneand once you've been devoured what is it to bedevoured again?2.Wishful Thinkingwill they discover us here? I ask.they are probably not even looking, You saybut i see the doubt in your eyeswe cling to the idea that we are not missedbut they let no one escape their clutcheswe know thisyou do not lay yourself down to be taken by the animalyou do not take this upon yourselfthey throw you to the wolves or they will find you3.In the Shadow of Doubtwe were wrongit is something to be devoured againwe know this nowthey can tear us apart before the beast can even touch usthey can make sure our bodies will cower from each otherin fear in disgust in agonythey can break us in twowe know this now we feel it nowits heart beats hard against us we know they hunt the wolf nownight falls we can feel the moon speak to the wolfthe pace slowsbut there is no time for rest in this forestthey hide in the trees the moon tells usthey will not stopand we will rot in herewe have failed4.Breakouti want to cry but the bowels of this animal allow no room for tearsyou see i am giving up i sense your anger before i see ityou will not leave me here in this fucking place, You sayand i know that i can't i peer through its mouth and see the torches through the treeswe know what has to be donethe wolf's heart beats in my hands now we rip it to pieces with our teethwe claw our way past organs through flesh and bone we breachthe light of day hurts our eyesthe fresh air stings before it caressesthe soil is damp beneath our feetour toes dig into the earthwe face our hunters and pounce

  • Jenn Monday, 20 August 2012

    This comment has been removed by the author.

  • Anonymous Monday, 20 August 2012

    The Bona Fide Beast Subtle lies shaped to imply T...

    The Bona Fide BeastSubtle lies shaped to implyThat he is no cousin tothe wolves reconnoitering the road You want to run,wolves don’t seduce, Hunger is the lupine universe,Despised and feared for that And yet they only stalk rush chaseelk to feed their bellies, while the bona fide beasttakes to your grandmother’s bed and shrouds his rapacious lust craftily under the covers of consoling nods and soothing words of empathy.

  • anaisbelieve Monday, 20 August 2012

    3. i walked for hours with no destination the cano...

    3.i walked for hourswith no destinationthe canopy concealing my face as i countedmy tearsthere were years iwished on every starto let me linger in yourcold regardi watched the sunspread light acrossthe sky thinking wanton womantrembling in the uncertain light of dawni was there oncetrying desperately tocalm all passioni'm too messy in myvines climbing up thearch of youflowers erupting muchtoo sooni swallowed my joytoo much expressioncould only corrode the purity of yourwithdrawl and whenyou came again i would always be thereto gather you back witheager water to ease yourthirsttonight the rain will notbe therei walki walk.

  • francescalia Monday, 20 August 2012

    by jessa marie but this poem got deleted here it i...

    by jessa marie but this poem got deleted here it is, BY JESSA3. the little princethere was no 666 on his bodybut I should have knownhe put his pets in blendersgoldfish souphe put them in the microwavehis mother would clean the hot gutshe ateKraft macaroni and cheese with hamburger pattiesdrenched in bloodred Heinz ketchupmashed the mixture until it resembled the fishhis mother fed me cereal drenched in milkin gigantic amber bakeware"if they loved you, they would feed you," she said"you will never look like them"this is what he told mewhen he sat me in his playroomroly poly pubescenceto watch his porn videoshe pretended to be a 'roided out wrestlerput me in choke holds and leg locksscratching and clawinghis ruddy, pimply armsto escape his hamburger gut raw onion smell(he's going to kill me)i thought he loved mei tried not to pass outi looked at the static girlscollagen mouths and dead eyesrock hard breasts and fluorescent nails(that would make someone love me)he released megasping for breathslowly testing my limbsnothing is broken(everything is broken)he cut the hair off my Alf dollso his would be bettersnuck the Gremlin Stripe doll in my bedi was terrified of the thing(ah! so that is what set the precedent!)when i was too old to wrestle, he fucked my friends("you'll never be like them")i ate cereal out of giant amber bakewareand tried to love myself.i will never own a goldfish.

  • alice mae Monday, 20 August 2012

    I am starting a little late, but I will catch up t...

    I am starting a little late, but I will catch up today. Thank you for being one of my main inspirations. ~~~~~Thank You:Though there are some that cannot see beyond the screen that is projectedto protect what lies beneath;I am lucky enough to have a few whom have braved the light blindingbidding them to come no further,and those are the ones that I cherish without restraint,wrapped up in my fairytales and day dreams.These are ones that understand the carnival of the inside of my head,who ride the horses of my thoughts, can keep up with my legsthat threaten to never stop,ever fatigued, shaking muscles, thumping with blood,tangled in lines of poetry spit out in long threads that sticky armsreach out making a mess of everything.These are the ones that have held up mirrors to bat off the lonely,showed me in always being there, that I am too, worthy. Have shown me that there is a cabin of sanctuary for lost little girls,where they can be safely tucked away free to create the worldsthat have danced in the darkness,bring them into the brightness.Played the highest strings of music to help me escape the confinesof threatening beliefs,built ladders that reach to the skies, so that I can touch the glitterthat litters the nights.These are the ones that I willingly take their hands,place their heads heavy with years of tears,take their burdens onto my thick shoulders, for if it wasn't for themI would not know that my back is strong enough to carry the weightof all of our joys and sorrowsThey are the points on my compass that lead my wavering arrow,illuminate the monsters that hide under my bedand have shown me that shadows in cemeteries are nothing to fearfor we are all energy and if we feed the mouths of our lovewith gracenothing can be harmful to us. It is to these creatures that I send my prayers of gratitude,for I know that these are the real angels,walking beside me every pebble of the way.

  • Teddi Monday, 20 August 2012

    they nestled in was it a nest of love? young cling...

    they nestled inwas it a nest of love?young clinging to oldfor isn't that what we want?when we're youngerto grow upas fast as we cancause then we thinkwe have no rulesthen we can do & bewhatever we wantaging know differentthe limits we haveby circumstance or choicesthings too far gonealready pasttoo late nowif only we couldembrace each stagethe young and old combinedthe branches of timewrapped in a tree trunk

  • Exitonpch Monday, 20 August 2012

    #3 My poem today won't be about ritualized vi...

    #3My poem today won't beabout ritualized viscera or cross-cultural mythological pollinationthough I suppose vicious giant wolves also roamed east Asiaand it won't be about serenity in the face, or gut, of misfortunewe won't delve into the lack of tooth marksclean faces despite bloodied limbsor the central spotlight on a heart-shaped embraceor even life, or deathfor what else is there amid gore, blood, terror, helplessness, being devoured whole by monsterstoo much even for weepingonly love

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