Strange Dreams and Mood Board Day

Lots of dreams of death, aggression, morphing and people self- harming. Sometimes, I just don't know what goes through my brain.

Wolf Tells

High meadow mind, I am

scree-slope, dreaming. I pulse

and the hidden population of rodents

sleeps to this rhythm.

There is no note- no whiff- here, 

of flesh opened. I hunt

this negative, it's why

I came, to pulse through

this new, dead stillness and take 

it down. Rip it.

Town, metallic herd. Storm of sound with

those shapes of heat lazing

upright in the grey.

Their young sleep, naked

bundles of meat-scent under vanishing

moon, curved bellies wanting; unguarded

and wanting-

I hunt this

negative. Love

of my lapping where their warmth ours

out. Leave my green

jaw poised perfect in the grey-

Ken Babstock

(Mean

House of Anansi Press Ltd.

1999)