HOWL

Sanaki feasts on playing hide and seek within
the dark red-brick prison that delicately shapes
my head.
Sanaki, with a bloodcurdling shriek, scrambles
through the maze of cells, disturbing and attacking
all the other residents.

A wolf pack of aroused viperous prisoners pin down
the melting warden, pricks him with needles, prods him
with pencils and swims into
his skin.

These days, when the light shines in, you don't want to play,
Sanaki?
Are you still there, my dear Sanaki?
Do you stare in silence as the violin dances on the piano,
when water floods inbetween the lead bars of closed cells;
when the warden's murderers lay, motionless, in their white
fish skin, with their limp lungs and pink mouths retiring
as small geysers.

Do you miss the scent of glorious blood, of rotten fear,
of sweaty nights and mildewed dreams?

Yes, my solemn Sanaki, I know you lurk in the corner
of these fragile walls. Gnawing at the chains, keen to pounce
on the white meat, to ravish it open and spawn more evils
to later regurgitate your eternal existance in my face.

One day, I'll get up and look in the mirror and
our eyes will meet, hungry Sanaki.
A tear will trickle down the open window of your cell,
and with blood trickling down your mouth, you will
crawl out and stand free, piercing and digging your
pupils through my empty body.

Sanaki, you need not break our prison's locks.
Sanaki, we need not spill our dark secrets.
Sanaki, I am you, dressed.