The title poem to one of my poetry manuscripts that never came to be. Now that the years have gone by, I see just how prophetic this poem is. Or how damning...
Common clay
Category: Brand Old Content
The wolves have lost their fangs their will their way
A poem from the archives. This one has been published several times (I think my most published poem), and seemed to be a hit whenever I performed it. Seems so long ago. Another life. Hopefully it still has a bite.
Death is always there
Death is always there:
Death is knocking back
drinks with
Hemingway
lurking around
shiny switchblade corners
slippery jackknife turns
rotting on the side
of the road
stalking like a jilted lover...
