The wolf’s back

She slept in waves
Stretching on to the shore
Falling rhythmically through a thousand tiny grains
Of the whitest sand
All the way to the center of gravity
Still she felt the moon pulling her back to consciousness
She raked her hands across a wet wolf’s back
She saw her face in a blackbird’s eyes
Then opened her own


The ghost at Arby’s


The ghost “A” at Arby’s makes me look twice
A Gothic marketing thing?
Tables full of skinny boys wearing mascara and girls with jet black hair arguing for hours over sandwiches
about how to bring in the throngs without a movie star or a beauty queen.
At three in the morning they decide to take down all the A’s.
They go home to their apartments in rusted out Nova’s and Dodge Darts .
They dream of spiders and bats.
They don’t care where all those A’s will go.