The Werewolf. (1991)

The werewolf loped down Cocoa
Beach on a winter's afternoon in 1986.
He came at me like the sky, a motley
rage of grays, his eyes black as tar.
I walked there high tide in my
desolation, the ugliness of the day
like blood from a personal wound.
Oh how I drank it! Drank to the dregs!
They say lone wolves are soul prey.
I found a darkness that day darker
than any I could have summoned.
The werewolf pounced me like a wave,
A shade sharpening into saw teeth
and sea-deep growls in my ear.
He battened on me for a while
then hauled me up into the air
to fly like angels off the scree
and onto suburban streets.
we whipped like wind round
cul-de-sacs and loped over streetlights.
O how to ink a werewolf's howl
onto the frail and milky page?
One rip down Main Street snapped
the spines of two oaks like twigs.
We arced and tore through parks,
upended empty swings, blew out
the windows of Shady Lane.
Did I say I howled too?
The werewolf delighted to part
lovers where they coiled,
shattering windows of parked cars,
ravishing the ravished with a fang.
The werewolf took me everywhere
that night, showed me every way
the dark night wins. All it takes
is teeth and fury and bigger teeth.
And when then the moon woke
from the sea to bathe us all in the
old eternal bonelight, we remembered,
remembered all! O how we howled then!
Do you hear that black music in
your sleep, trilling your spine so coldly?
Don't bother to pull the curtains or
haul the covers over your head.
There isn't a bullet for this rage,
there isn't a dawn for this night.