Vixen

The vixen screams at midnight
down behind the neighbor’s house
—distant, probably over by Big Rock
along the creek—a haunting shriek
carried along thin, dark, chilly air.
It reminds me of my soul, which
remains despite microelectronics,
sucked this way and that by these
unknown, un-studied distractions,
this light-beamed opiate age.
Somewhere inside my ribs I too
scream at my freezing half-moons,
urgent with desire for what’s Real,
God damn it: loudly protest myself
and all my choices; crawling late
to sleep after hours of odorless
Nothing—

She screams again, a violent noise
faint in the woods. I head back in, to
watch them score another TV point.
Later, stupor’d by electric sideshows,
I hear her once again, but now
much closer, now
deep within.










december 2017