The universe is just a cluster of dead white flakes in a story by Solzhenitsyn. & the wolf of yr old life is really only a ghost of someone trapped in yr head. He tells you how dragging the freezing currents of the Mystic River for yr body, he found you still alive/supernaturally dead—a second wolf tattooed on yr back. & the idea of this makes you unbelievably happy & so you don’t really trust it. & then you realize the obvious—a poet’s mornings, evenings, afternoons are fuel for the fire of a freezing death. & you don’t have a good handle on things like this. & there’s frost hugging yr beard, yr steps climbing the cold air in the hall, & the absolute tomb of yr apartment—could it be any darker?! & you & yr baby sitting up with the body & shivering to carols. &/or channel 19 sitting up with the baby—the whites of yr eyes burning in the cold husk yr burden always becomes. & it makes you wary—a mobile of toy creatures hanging like wanton prey above yr baby’s crib—& how this, you hope, is objet d’art even a wolf can’t eviscerate.
Raymond Farr is author of ECSTATIC/.of facts (Otoliths, 2011), & Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog, 2012), Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav (Blue & Yellow Dog, 2015) & 2 e-chapbooks, Eating the Word NOISE! (White Knuckle Chaps, 2015), & A Journey of Haphazard Miles (ALT POETICS, 2016). Raymond is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog, now archived at http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com & publisher/editor of a new poetry blog The Helios Mss.