It's Still Life

 
The Limits

There’s a gulf
Between here and there.
This town

Is toughest at its limits,
Hard as darkness,
It ignores moonlight.

The dogs howl out there.
Don’t know why, and
No one asks whether

It’s rapture or despair.
Dogs
Mimic their owners,

An ill-fated fang is reason enough
Not to ask.

NaPoWriMo: rebel against a poem form

It’s National Poetry Writing Month, which explains the surge in activity. I’m following three different sites generating daily prompts. Writers’ Digest Poetic Asides, the National Poetry Writing Month website (NaPoWriMo) and my old friend, Walt, over at Gnomes. All of these pieces are drafts.