Ballad of Children Under the Moon

Revenge is a trail easy to follow, and you can’t run from beasts forever.

Especially when they live within.

Snow and death and rain and fire and sun and life and needle and spoon.

Packs of wolves running with children under the moon.

Howling under naked trees, seeing our breath, tasting time, tearing flesh with jagged teeth.

Living in urban cave dwellings.

Whiskey and guns and good-hearted women, lost.

Six rounds of hellbound sound echoing off the bricks in the promised land.

We eat the black cats that cross our path and don’t think twice about turning their blood to wine, jumping from bridges under the cover of night.

Wasted and waiting on the next mistake.

It doesn’t take much to guide one’s hand when you live far away from laws as undomesticated animal bones living in human skin, pretending, howling, wanting.

The scent is strong, and the trail leads to yourself, chasing your tail in a circle, complete.

©J.D.C.IV 2019

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