"The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks."

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

The Call of the Wild

A woman is the howl of a wolf. O to be the throat from which is torn such a song! For a wolf lives wholly in his howl. A hound-in the fist of the leash upon his collar.

The women hunt in packs, dense and electric as balloons. And O to be the fist that lets them go. Floating over watchful houses. Distant as a wolf’s red cry.


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