Coyotes Ate My Thursday

Blackout, the sullen moon,
The appetite to swallow flesh,
The divots torn of broken claws, and sweat
That glistens in the gloom
Like light that follows death.
No territory lies unmarked:
Just unrepentant howls and scents
That pull back memories of who
Survived. The crackling underbrush
And overgrowth and aftershocks —
There’s only stimuli and rigor
Mortis, praying mantis of
The dogs, you venus
Flytrap of the dogs

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