NEITHER WOLF NOR DOG

I howl, cloaked by dense, grey fog;

Neither wolf and neither dog . . .

I prowl over now familiar pathways.
I prowl upon neatly positioned bricks.
I prowl upon the gritty, pale
Concrete-faced trail,
Occasionally traversing
The dangerous currents of asphalt rivers;
Winding my way through a forest of flesh.
The city is a congested wood, a thick forest,
Pushing.
Through this forest I prowl �"�"
I prowl and I sometimes growl.

And, in the course of my prowling,
February's frigid demon attacks,
Scratching my unprotected face �"�"
Retreating once more without a trace.
And I am stirred to wonder . . .

I wonder at the depths to which we will descend.
I marvel at what we will endure
In the endeavor to procure
A kiss, a kind word, a long embrace �"�"
To secure the currency of a familiar face,
To hear the voice we know above all others,
Just so we will not find ourselves alone.
I know that I would rather dwell
In any charted or uncharted hell,
A familiar torment or one I do not yet know,
I marvel at the depths to which I go.

Is there a gauge that measures,
The limits of our pains and pleasures?
Is there a way to know how much pain we can endure
In that endeavor to procure
That kiss, that kind word, that long embrace?
Would I have taken that sojourn into the abyss
(The ticket purchased with our first kiss);
Would I have grasped you in a firm embrace
If I knew it would lead to this place?
And would I ever have dared to speak one kind word
If I knew?
And would you?

I howl, cloaked by dense, grey fog;
Neither wolf and neither dog . . .

And I marvel at my own attempts at domestication �"�"
Convincing myself that I was no longer wild
Merely because I was housebroken!
I allowed myself to believe the fantastic illusion,
Losing myself in the delusion
That I was tame
Simply because I did not soil the carpet!

Now, I find myself a homeless stray,
I cry out, "This shouldn't happen to a dog! No!
This shouldn't happen to a dog!
To find myself banished in the dense, grey fog!"
And, in short, it did not happen �"�"
For there is no dog in me
Nor was there ever.
I am too stupid or too clever,
Easily becoming bored with chasing balls,
Hiding bones, performing the standard array of tricks
Just so you would comb away my burrs and ticks.
Though I continue to beg scraps from the table,
Endlessly searching for a bowl,
Haunted by memories of lying at your feet,
Stretched out before a raging fire,
There is no longer a home in need of my protection,
Only faint images and recollections
Which are resurrected and projected
Against the backdrop of the fog �"�"
I wish that I could have been a dog.

In my pulse I felt the hunt �"�"
I felt the wind against my face
And I was caught up in the chase;
The hunt whisked across my face
Whenever we were gripped in a long embrace.
And as I licked your hand in gratitude,
I knew that you were, in fact, food;
No different from a deer or sheep.
In a restrained attempt at tameness
I did not bite.
And I tried to become just another dog,
Pissing on any pole I could find.

I have watched the raging moon,
Like the sun's anemic sister, rise�"
Burning like desire in the cold, dark skies.
I have watched the pantheon of specters
Who haunt the night
Throw off their camouflage
And serenade the darkness with hymns
Written by futility's hand!But there are no stars in the city night �"�"
Not one shimmering ghost unveils its light.

In the starless night I prowl �"�"
I prowl and I sometimes growl.
I prowl over the same rust colored footpaths;
I prowl upon the same, cracked
Concrete-faced track;
I swim the asphalt rivers;
I weave my way through the forest of flesh,
Noticing that the evening sidewalks
Show signs of deforestation.
And as I sift through scents,
I wonder if the rain is merely
God marking its territory . . .

And I recall the pristine past
Frictionlessly gliding toward an inaccessible expanse,
The ghostly images, perched on time's horizon, dance,
As each passing second is born anew and dies,
Boisterously wailing infant cries.
On lengthy days, quiet and clear,
Where the wrinkled sea kisses the atmosphere �"�"
I sit transfixed and watch the sad ballet
As each newborn second strives to mature, but dies away . . .
I recall the pristine past.

I recall that once,
In a devastating decree of sincerity,
She had the audacity to say to me,
"I know that you're a nice guy,
That much cannot escape the eye."

I am not nice!
I am amiable, polite, diplomatic,
Well-disposed to others if it suits my advantage!
But I will not be confined to a cage
Of benign behavior.
"Expedience"
Is the name which dangles from my collar
"Expedience" is my name!
I will be all things to all �"�"
To the Greek I will be a Greek
And to the Jew I will be a Jew;
This is, after all, what all good hunters do.

Should I starve?
Should I feel remorse?
Am I to acquiesce to those who would endorse
That I repent of that which I cannot change?Am I expected to exchange
My instinct for a scratch behind the ear?
Hell is not reserved for the damned!
It is secured for cold hearts that must be thawed by fire!

So should I starve?
With sharp, white fangs I will carve
My initials in the flesh of any who are unwise
Enough to think I can be civilized,
Preaching a baptism of subdued domestication �"�"
Damning me because I am dangerous.

No! I will not starve!
No! I will not feel remorse!
I will not acquiesce to those who endorse
That I quit the hunt and repent the call of the wild �"�"
As if I could ever become placid and mild.
I may not possess the talent of killing without conscience,
But I can certainly wound without worry;
I can cripple without compunction.
I know that there is no meal without murder.
Like love, hunger requires sacrifice,
No one can be both satiated and nice.
I am not ashamed to murder for my meat!
I will chew the body and drink the blood,
Shunning pretense.

So will I be tame if I choose by my own free will
To eat the corpse but not make the kill?
Is a dog merely a kinder, gentler carnivore?
If so, then the dog is a w***e
Who is convinced that he merits some beatitude
Because someone else kills his food.

I grappled for a different fate
But I cannot be a dog;
Do I deserve banishment in the dense, grey fog?

Perhaps.

But the smoggy exile, I will refuse!
I will give the devil her dues;
I only expect to be given mine.
And if there is a god in heaven, or some such place,
I will honor it by living wild as I have been created,
For I am surely wild and the wild ones are surely hated.

I howl in defiance of the dense, grey fog;
I will be wolf since I can't be dog!

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[Emily B]

where the wild things are . . . if you sail away in and out of weeks and almost over a year you may come to the place where the other wild things are.