Uomo-Lupo (divinità infera)

Again I promise my healthy self:
You will not do this when the weather changes,
The shape of things becomes a mist you take,
As all, too seriously. Again I feel myself escape.
Once a werewolf, always a werewolf I say: for
How could I possibly turn back on a life of
Blood, shedding fur and all, and expect mere
Brotherhood in return, a collection of vile and
Inviolate thought, love in spite of transformation
Into something more than taking off a skin to
Otherkin, stirring earth intending to proclaim
Me of its own? To refuse a gift takes more than
Saying no to it. Accepting of the thanks I get –
More often than regretting it – is shoulder
I look over just to see the beast in chase,
These ills in motion. Gone to so much
I see: the body to deliver me:
Dismembered and, intact.


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