Hooded wolves

Hooded wolves, bearded sharks
tight-rope walkers dressed as narks
the drip of butter on a scalded tongue
the silence of victory, after defeat has been won.
What do
these forays
into the forest
of my mind
these ample titbits of my despair
gone blind
have in common?
Tied together by the lan
gwidge of the midge (and the fly)
the cooling rhythm of
a broken fridge (and its smile)
 
they are sir
real. so kneel
before this might
this pen man ship’s plight
and say
Dwight...
that’s not a name
for a popstar!