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Mr. Wolf came with many blessings

he was a frivolous anathema
loathed for his neverending stomach-on-stomachs romance
partially dismissed by his folks
for being only in half a steak-eater
hungry for a constant flux of admiration
but just to have it served, for free, no work
he’d just wait there with his fork
admitting any guest, not letting any out
sanctified with lard
justified with ketchup
oh, how did Mr. Wolf want to be a shepherd
milk believer and honey denier
he ambulated around his promised land
like he resented walking
scratching the ground with his unbelieving feet
defying the sunlight with the black holes in his eyes

[he wears a necklace made of his victims’ teeth
under his designer shirt and a suit
but the truth of it is in another world
hidden in subcutaneous metaphors
where a warrior meets a narcissus
amidst a battle of forbidden words]

his blessings turned into winter storms

[Mr. Wolf cannot lose one game
he dines and wines
defeats his concubine
creates new reasons for dying]

how did he end up in the woods?
it was said: nobody knows
his suit covered with snow
surrounded by thin dark pillars of naked trees
and a pack of grinning wolves
called by the hunters to get out of the way
he was stunningly incapable to determine
whether he was one of those or one of these

the sunlight, so uncertain of itself that day
certainly saw one thing
in packs or lone
predatory minds don’t take no for an answer
so it was what must have been

is it too insensitive to say
that every wolf saw its shadow
on its execution day?



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