Wolf House In Ruins-For Jack London
We came to your home
Jack
Hidden amongst bosom
hills and armies of trees
past the State gates
who finally admitted
us entry to your tomb
they keep you here
Jack
in memory, first editions
your wife spent years
here alone, your phantom
haunting the halls
the woods
her memory
she built this place
like the Egyptians of old
dragging each mental stone
one
upon
the other
cranium slave labor
of awe
fear
love
a physical testament
to your published
achievements and
emotional fingerprint
you left your mark
everywhere
Jack
Hawaii where you
danced the headhunter
dance of primitive times
donned your outfit
and howled to the
new moon of inspiration
Jack
you and wife traveled
the oceans just like
your novels
your life ebbing and
alive
still
in these pages of
Calling and White
you observed life
and the universe
and without hesitation
you recorded it for us
Christopher Columbus
Sir Francis Drake
of reality fiction
But reality has a way
of finding even the
largest child as we
hide from it or
ignore it before its
to late
it found you after
your Wolf House burned
and the booze burned
you for far too long
you slept the final
sleep
on the porch of
inspiration
like a babe you returned
now we see the
ruins of the Wolf House
and your grave
your ashes
beneath the stone
next to your wife
across from the two
children's markers
the birds crying as
we all do for you
Jack
Copyright © Colin Amato | Year Posted 2011
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