Island of Wolves by Allison Grayhurst

The hound dogs surround

in groves of filthy packs.

I cannot say they are bleeding

but I smell their injuries wherever I go.

Their howls linger in the smog cloud

outside my bedroom window. Their

snarls permeate my floorboards.

Who will tame their greed? It is necessary

to have an answer to this destruction – the streets,

the kitchen are in need of repairing. Around the corner,

death drips like a carnivore’s favourite dream.

They are following the order of things,

full of hope but immune to all good faith.

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