howling.

the fullest.
oh yeah.
superlative moonlight conditions exist this evening.
and,
with the refractory refinement of a mountain
of unmelted white-highlight ice crystals all around us,
it should be daytime bright all night.
despite the nearly-there illumination of yestereve,
i somehow still fell fast asleep at 9:30 last night.
how's that for the fast-paced ferocity of Folk Life?
yep.
work, work, work, dinner, sleep.
and sleep so hard!
what?
no.
jeez, real nice;
i hope i'm not terminally ill,
or two hundred years old,
i was just tired.
probably.
it's hard work, after all,
all that yelling and complaining and tattooing all damn day.
or maybe,
just maybe,
i was getting caught up on my beauty rest,
so i can be hearty and hale for the wild rumpus
of werewolfen, shapeshifting, berserker burliness
that runs hand in hand with lunar lycanthropic lunacy.
that's exactly what happens on fullest moons.
that means bonfires in the snow,
and wet woodsly smoke so thick it looks like clouds,
and howling so hard-style it makes alan ginsberg's ghost
make multiple graveside revolutions.
roll over, ninja.
we beat beat, and replace it with battle.
warrior poetry, every time, my ninjas-
it'll be so dazzlingly dope, y'all.
tonight's a great night for that kind of action.
i'm feelin' it, too.
full moon fever an' that.
BONSAI!!
we've got a crucial collection of leafy greens up here.
this is one of the newer ones.
we already had a bonsai tree,
but in the interests of anthropomorphized flora,
it needed a friend.
or else it'd get lonely.
...i'm serious.
and so now this is happening.
i don't know if they can see each other,
but i suppose they seem happier?
double dwarf super-star juniper jars.
nice.
maybe they'll produce some berries,
and we'll make some gin.
seems likely on both counts, yeah?
sure.

this one's rosemary.
she smells good.
and i like good smells.
i think i'm supposed to clip and snip off some limbs,
all medieval torture and culinary culture,
from this conical clay-pot co-conspirator.
i almost never ever do it, though.
it just seems mean.
maybe once my wife's green thumbs-up
causes a sprouting spurt of growth and change,
i'll be forced to stunt that progress,
and fill my bellyhole, too.
i can't waste the whole window's worth of space
just being nice to a useless plant.
a useful plant, on the other hand,
that might get the run of a whole hallway.
active participation applies
to personality-possessing plants, too.
right out that door, kids.
that's where my naked heinie is headed.
tonight, i mean.
once the wolfman sh!t hits the fan.
brisk, crisp cold night air,
unfortunately furred flesh,
and a slew of shocked neighbors, most likely.
nudity almost never escapes notice, y'know?
butt-naked and burning sh!t seems a great way
to get the party started, though.
the last day of B.H.M. needs a proper send-off party.

the sounds outside are muffled into near-silence,

and the powdery-puffed up snowdrifts are like cold cushions.

that seems like the antithesis of what i'm representing.

don't worry,

like a real-deal hardcore hemmingway character,

my infinite nature will triumph over ma nature-

sound-dampening, impact-deadening snow can't win,

i'm just sayin',

it's a full mutha-flippin' moon,

and the battle-beasts don't play nice.

you still know how it goes:

never quiet, never soft.....