A black hole
in a ruddy glow.
The moon went incognito.
The earth followed suit. We reeled below
like drunken twentysomething werewolves in snow.
Two men gone bloody under the penumbra. When clans
of carnivores meet their brethren, we howl concertos—
hunt and howl long Os in transcendent, blood-bound harmonies.
Sleek-furred, open-nostrilled, taut-muscled, Josho and I
twined our vulpine, astronomical supplications
for connective joy—for mirrors, partners, orbits—
we caterwauled our throats raw for women.
When the frozen white light returned,
we panted our prayers, so
blessed by earth-moon
|by Chamisa Kellogg. Yeah, Chamisa!|
This is a great example of an illustration that changes the poem. For me,
it wasn't a poem about werewolves, though the memory I wrote about
certainly had that flavor and worked with the imagery of lycanthropy.
At the same time, other poems in the book refer to vampires, Frankenstein's
monster, The Pale Man from Pan's Labyrinth, and so on. I like the
interpretation of this as a "monster poem." Were were pretty bestial