superbeast

i stopped by a winery

on my way home from work--

decided to stock up

on stuff i never drink,

now here i am

two bottles into

a night that feels like closet sex

with a broom

and a shy girl named Matilda.

i am Benicio

before becoming the Wolf.

i feel this thing inside me growing

larger-          wanting to rip through

frail skin.

it needs to breathe--

it needs to feed--

it needs to die--

semi-dry

riesling wine tastes like white

grapes with a kick

            -i think i like it.

yesterday, i took my gun into the backyard-

fired randomly at t-t-trees

while waiting for

the shadow that hangs over me

to reach 3 o'clock.

it felt like forever.

God got bored

and bang-bang'd his back

while crashing a tree

behind me...

i think he's plotting to kidnap

the next sunrise.

i hate inanimate objects

more than wine,

but sometimes

they grow on me...

i say

as i open

a third bottle

and pour almost

half of it into a red solo cup.

i guess now i'm a wino

with a bad case

of the blues,

and a penchant for

sophisticated self destruction.