I will never stop telling the story
of the wolf-sized coyotes
outside the seven eleven
in the mountains above the lake.
These monsters ate hot dogs
that had rolled a few miles
on their treadmill
with the gusto
with which I sometimes deny
the verve of life.
When I forget myself
I feed these wolves
do you mind
if I call them
wolves?
and they feast
on the dogs
that have been sweating
in the worst recesses
of my sheepish mind.
I turn to animals
anytime I try to tell a story
and they make the sounds
that I often wish
I could.
Roman Ryan 