The language of noise

The language of noise
when spoken stridently in tones of red,
summons wolves from the forest,
those swatches of fur and fang
that flee the trees and pace the streets.

Red Riding Hood, the  runaway
is living alone under the causeway.
Little-child-girl-form with a bullet train in her blown veins,
reeling away, rocketing off the tracks,
each broken window shattered into
fangs of glass and steel, shredding sunlight
with the fury and contempt of the dead
whose names will not be called by God.

The path to grand-mère’s house is paved with asphalt;
you can hear the clickity-clack of claws
as little red two-feet treads along with her pack.
They’re coming, old woman, with no cookies, no sweets.
They’re coming with hunger.  They’re coming with empty
baskets to picnic on your tasty bones
when all the flesh is gone.



 Inspired largely by the video for Hanni El Khatib's Come Alive, by migrating coyotes forced into cities as their natural habitats are destroyed by development, by the anger and estrangement of abandoned and neglected children, black and white photography, sexual abuse and self-medication.