I'm sleeping on it.

He said the house will be
his alone
soon.

And I would be most welcome
to stay
in the throne room.

There is so much hanging
on a journey like that,
not to mention the moon

while I consider it

making things alive
amidst a mist
of deadness.

One can sure worry,
but the worries attack
from all sides,
wolves attracted
by the same light -

well, watch, motherfuckers,
and we'll see who can bite -

I could go and visit heaven.
Risk bringing back the plague,
or touch him with it
and hold that sorrow down
all my days.

I unwind
where it's quiet
and safe
but for the wolves -
clubs in both hands,
I've got
blood out of the night,
bringing fire to my fight, dashing
and blazing,
shattering embers -
my life force colliding with claws,
keeping
bruised snouts at bay...

easy to watch my own foolishness,
and see the right answer
right away.
I s'pose that's part of getting older.
But I ain't even touched 21 -
I'm still so pulled
to that romantic rage -
and the midnight sun
makes one
even bolder.

So little am I,
scrawny. I guess it was the dripping
of my beating heart -
the bleeding -
that could attract

not just a lone beast
but half a pack.