Within me

there are wolves in my car-park,

prowling amongst the cars,

stalking my unconscious.

lean, deep grey monsters set on garbage or my soul flesh.

my demons disguised as beasts;

they are werewolves or not,

possessed of thinking,

plotting,

perhaps not,

but I will not walk amongst them,

for one fears one might be wrong.

by Violette Rose-Jones

Email: rat2weasel@bigpond.com