The Hour of the Wolves

Foot falls on concrete.
White noise that lulls me back to the waking dream.
Wash, rinse, repeat that fine linen suit.
Keep it primed and ready to impress the wolf eyes.
For they are ready to devour your weakness 
with their condemning stare.

Click clack, click clack.
Heels on pavement, down the stained stairs.
One step at a time into the drowning sea of 
bleary eyed souls.
Each riding the rails into their own dream
or nightmare.

Click clack, click clack.
The gatekeeper greets you with a plaster smile
And the concrete travels up to secure one of your own.

It is the hour of the wolves.
Don't numb too much or the wolves may eat you.
Don't feel too much or they may push through the crack.

Walk the line carefully until the sun sets 
And the shackles are released.
Sigh of relief.
There is a wrinkle in the fine linen,
But it didn't tear.

Click clack, click clack 
The heels go.
Eyes glazed over, paycheck's in.
Dreams attained?


Written By

New Yorker, photographer, blogger, and life time dreamer.