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.