wolf eyes.

duders,
i wish i had some pictures to show you.
but,
everything is gray and busted and hidden behind a haze of chiaroscuro chalkiness
blanketing the blaze orange oak leaves that have lingered past their expiration date.
uh-huh.
check it out-
the whole of the woodsly goodness is on danger alert.
like,
off the charts, to eleven, panic-mode sh!t-flipping-the-F*-out style.
all the bread and water in the valley is gone.
to the homemade prisons of fearful 'fraidycats who for some strange reason
need sandwiches when the weather turns frightful.
bread and water is incarceration food, i've always thought.
maybe they don't even know they're doing it wrong?
(the problem with always encouraging too much as the right amount
is that i'm consistently overestimating everyone, by accident, on principle)
anyway,
the shelves are cleared out, and the streets are ghostly empty.
it hasn't started raining yet,
but a great wall of gaseous water and whim and wrath is feeling it's way up
across the mountainous girdle of granite protection
that wraps itself around the woodsly goodness.
ew, it's so dirty.
...and it's comin'.
what do i find far more interesting than a little rough weather?
nobody remembers that it's also a full moon.
that's the real deal righteous danger zone stuff, mango.
magnetic polar activation from space is adding it's essence to these insults
and injuries that seem to have my other other neighbors at a loss for decisive direction.
surround-sound stormswept savage gyspy werewolf monster-mash-up jauns
can't be battled or bargained with.
a thick soup of misty clouds concealing the luminescence can't redirect the rays.
just because you can't see it, kids,
doesn't ever mean it isn't there.
the fog banks and wind gales aren't much of a bother-
it's the no-sleep silver of a sterling wolfen moon that has me worried, y'all.
i can feel it, guys.
like, blood science or something.
anticoagulant transformative disease, a tricky tantric temper tantrum,
a traumatic thaumaturgical metaphor for bad tempers and hard styles and worse times.
and for sure, son, it's ALL really happening.
a toxic cocktail of comingled commensurate commiserate misery.
a roiling, boiling, toiling, troubling bubbler of undesirable deeds and dates,
and feats, and defeats, and foibles.
on the real,
it's a perfect storm all right:
the end of october,
the samhain hottness of all hallow's eve,
all the tricks, the absence of treats,
and the impending upheaval of no-thank-you-vember.
awwwww, man!
that's no jokes, folks.
today is the day.
battling heavens, hidden circles in the sky,
eyes of the storm in wolf form,
and savage barbarian battle-beast ferocity in the air around me.
blowing those winds of war, and change, and unenviably answerable questions,
directly at my own fanged and fur-lined F*ing face.
i'm howling at the sky, i'm howling at the moon, i'm howling for a year's worth of
hard times and empty nights.
there's a storm coming, for sure, and it isn't comprised of rain drops, either.
wolf's paw watermarks, bloodstained bits of tooth and nail,
the distilled essence of animal ultra-electro-magnetics,
in magenta and crimson,
and a deluge of biblical proportions apportioned to the woodsly goodness.
because after all,
who doesn't love the smell of wet dog?
yuck.
bedraggled.
it looks exactly like how it sounds.
it's a wholly bedraggled experience to be present and accountably counted on
in the withering white mountainous calm before this touted storm.
today is the day,
but tonight is more the night than ever.
an adverse universe.
an unrehearsed soliloquy.
howling winds, howling wolves, maybe moving castles, too.
anything can happen when the overlapping smoke ring ghost circles
of then and now and later meet up in the middle of spirit and memory.
take my word for it-
nothing good will come of this;
never quiet, never soft.....
also, post #1776?
that's pure patriotic Folk Life & Liberty, son!