The moon goes up
And the words come out
Watch yourself now
There’s a werewolf about
His silver fur blackens
Like the nib of a pen
He sits on his haunches
And starts howling again
Stories rise
From watery graves
Poems wake up
And haunt the page
When the writing is done
The werewolf retreats
Goes to the fridge
And gets something to eat
Werewolf Writer


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