the view from the deep dark woods
I'm fed up with toppled fairy tales.
I am tired of the redeemed wicked.
Sometimes the dragon wants to devour the knight
with his mouth as hot as a dying star. Sometimes
the witch has insides made of hideous things.
So where does that put us?
In my life, the circles of people who understood me
and people who liked me never overlapped.
I don't know if that makes me a knight or a dragon.
I don't know if that makes me a little boy or a witch.
And then, of course, there’s you.
And when I think of you I think of a
dark and deep woods, with sharp teeth
like yellow torches in the shade,
with the taste of a winter mist so alive I groan,
the raw, wet heat that gathers in your eyes
when you're about to cry, etc, etc.
You were always the wolf. We both know this.
What are you doing here?
Wrong question, try again.
Is the wolf such a bad thing to be?
Closer. If you are the wolf,
who am I? Bull's-eye.
You know, we could be soulmates in a twisted way.
What's a fairy tale if not a horrified romance?
Needle and curse, temptation and
cannibalism, bloody apple and
mouth, wolf and terror. Is that me, then-
the one who is afraid of the wolf?
trick question. I know.
Everyone is afraid of the wolf,
whether you are a henchman or hero or
helper or victim or witness or even
the wolf himself. There is good and bad
and then there is the terror
hanging heavy over the whole world-
it doesn't help me.