Wolf Hunting
I heard a story once about people up north.
Where there’s long days and long winters
And the snow piles higher than houses.
They hunt wolves in winter,
Finding ways to do it safely.
Horrific and brilliant methods.
Take a knife and dip it in blood
Freeze the blood on the blade,
Do this over and over
Ten times over.
Until the blade is deep beneath a thick coat
A winter coat of deepest red.
Leave it in the open blade pointing up
Saluting the sky
Taking a bow before the grand performance
The great seduction of the beast.
Curiosity can be wonderful,
Curiosity can be devastating.
A hint on the wind
And the scent makes itself at home
Amongst happy memories
Eating dinner with family.
You come out of the trail
Seeing this small tower of red
Amidst this ocean of white,
You remember this shade of red.
It wasn’t the first lick that killed you
But it sealed your fate to be sure.
Those that live by the sword die by the sword
Those that thirst for blood drown in their own.
Niceties we say to excuse our guilt,
You never stood a chance against this trap
It looks like food
It smells like food
And it even tastes like food.
Your tongue swarms into every crevice
Made by the swirling vapours
Of your hot breath excited
Panting with desire and hunger.
You lick and lick and lick
And endless fountain of your favourite flavour
You denied yourself nothing.
The blood just kept coming,
First from the frozen blood
Thawed by your warmth,
But then it switched and you didn’t notice.
Did you?
Can’t pinpoint the second but sometime
Your tongue met the steel
Blood now spouting from many sources
And you swear it’s the best day you’ve ever had.
You died in a garden painted red,
By the fleshy brush jutting forth
From your strong jaws
Bathed in your own paint.
I just listened to the story,
Dumbstruck.
I’ve never understood
A wild animal better than now,
I’ve been betrayed
By my longings too.
Curiosity can be wonderful,
Curiosity can be devastating.
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