Were (did she go) wolf

A warning to the young buck on the winter landscape.
A wondrous princess is approaching.
A diagnosed wolf in sheep’s clothing.
The manic-depressive she-wolf,
the partner and friend.
Tea and sympathy in the snow.
In the pines.
What do she-wolves really want?

The delicate white wool of the lamb darkens,
coarsens as the moon waxes
And now a she-wolf is here
Howling for dominion
That sweet suckling lamb that you took to your breast
has grown in stature
and is now too big for taking under your arm.
It is now of preditory mind
Ferocity lies just below the surface.
Buyer’s regret

Cuckoo in the nest;
The enemy within;
A she-wolf at the breast:
It looks the same,
it still comes to its name
But its softness, its kindness, its love
has gone in an impossible moment

Juices taste of abject disatisfaction.
Amidst Intense ice and fire
Carcasses leave no creativity,
they walk with the Iron Heel.
Unhappy with self it cannot
bear the contented prosaic nearby.
Captured, the reversed mind is sullied,
intent on contaminating.

Their insideous danger comes from swings:
Just look at their logos
The Freemasons, the Fabians
and the hitch knot,
the greatest puppet master of all.
Blizzards comes after the fall
so beware of the cold
in the Winter landscape.
Don’t allow your heart to freeze.

© Michael Clifford 10/22

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