Actually I am at the epicenter
of your subconscious
I am the witch
the mother
the excreted
the marginal one said the old woman
I’m the damned dark of the moon

Have you noticed
poets don’t write poetry
about flowers
these days
so what said the tulip
lightly tossing her blossom
the bees dig us

A pack of us streaming
down a city street
remembering when we were wolves
makes you stop in your tracks
even a single one of us
unleashed
scares you a bit doesn’t it said the dog.