a poem by Willie Smith

THE NOW

Hear the wolf inside the skull.
Some nights the wolf howls.
Or whistles. Or snores.
Scent the wolf behind the eyes.
Realize in a cage the wolf lives. Hear
the wolf on the job behind a desk fall quiet.
Over and over sense the senseless work
work to link the chain to the slave.
Let the wolf wolf the days
till at the door the wolf lurks.
Feel the leaves in the eaves rot
along the mouth's roof.
Taste fang bloody tongue.
Hear the door creak above the reek
of the breath of the wolf.

Hear the snore whistle at the howl.
Know the ice. Tongue the snow.
Here, the now.

© Willie Smith