Under A Disfigured Moon

Under Disfigured Moon


Dissonant caterwauling hangs motionless,
upon this stillborn night of nights.
As howling dogs dine upon raw flesh,
with hot haste and snabbled moonlight.

Sanctified Sylphic born on the breeze,
stop the wailing and moaning that drifts through the trees.
Stop the whimpering whine, misplaced and mistimed,
and end the mewling clamor, the discord in rhyme.

Near the mark, near at hand, ‘neath the trees where they stand,
Hell’s own incompassionate canines in June.
Resonant dogs, rouped and ululant, scourge of lamented land,
plain as a pikestaff under a disfigured moon.

Raucous and throaty, torn voices lying bare,
prickly and pilous are the sounds that they share.
Dissonant caterwauling hangs motionless,
as howling dogs tear into fresh human flesh.