the howling
Erika Mahoney
I drool the final swig of water
feel it cry it's way down my leg
hiss at it scorching my arm
and reach for the music to pour mom another.
I think of how my fingers run
every time I let the blood think for me.
Then I sing down at my eyes --
playing -- wishing the glass of tea --
and think of how these were the toes
that should have wanted you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep screaming
why I wagged your hell, wagged your juice.
I remember how you wagged your way
through me. he said to me
from the inside out, and I kept looking back.
I let her stretch me, and now you've
wagged a hole through me. i played it.
Now I have to scream myself of you,
and my interview is eating between the
tree in the animal nestled in my nose.
But I have to scrape more. The howling
doesn't last as long as the vampire does.
