Skinwalker’s Toss

Skinwalker’s Toss

worn work boots, wing tips, stilettos, Birkenstocks,
flip-flops, moccasins, Doc Marten, Converse, bare
dog trailing a chain, cat, pigeon, owl, rat
no matter the form of the foot it will falter.
ecstasy or peace, the shapeshifter’s toss

on one street out of many in any small city,
a building with a doorway in no way remarkable
casts a lure of peace to any who can hear
the screaming dark moon,
like a wild cat in heat
shrieking

throw off your skin and come to your sister
in the one form you belong to: none
unity, unity, fleshless and free
wild in the space between fragmented wholes

but the door whispers sanctuary, sanctuary, home

the future will hang like the last autumn fruit,
out of reach, out of knowledge
one last new skin could be destiny in flesh
or the anguish and formless insanity
who calls the winner when the coin doesn’t fall?
every dark of the moon
the same choice returns

 

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Posted on 2010/10/22, in Big Tent Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. Eerie, unsettling, wonderful word flow!

  2. Intriguing storyline, menacing with its call for peace! Really captured my imagination!

  3. a box, tossed to the side,
    empty, paper leaf shredded,
    skin cracks, remembers

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