The Gonzo Wolf

Me, my smoking hat (it’s a thing), and a steaming cup of Earl Grey

There’s an unusual chill in the courtyard, considering that winter half-asses it around these parts

I care little for an explanation; thanks for showing up

Setting flame to tree, I close my eyes against the Edison Bulbs

Memories of fairs and Ferris Wheels; blinding globes amid star-fields

Carried to the car for the last time

Bad things on the horizon; panic, finger-pointing, parading

A town shaken; a town clueless

I am what I feared, but “fear” is funny

Fears chase you, petrify you

A few’ll get you down-right horned-up

Cruising altitude achieved as the beverage sighs at temp

Tea and water; herbs, leaves, and dreamer-weaves

Tucked beneath city eyes; cold silence in night’s tomb

Spark and burn; fire’s claws dig, but only a moment

Witch’s brew runs ecstatic fingers down a chaste throat

Words fail the level of seduction, but an attempt was made regardless

Streaks of magic fill my frigid lungs; warding off winter

How rare, the spiritual moments between one and everything else

Without slapping a bunch of Bible shit all over it; doubling the price

And calling it “daddy”.