alfie lee writing



I spend my life preparing for
what i now know will not happen.
It's cool. The rains arrive. The snow.

Outside i see, padding by, the wolf.
White prints track white ground.
Howls that echo across town.

I chase the wolf
on my ten-speed bike, hurtling
across the Williamsburg Bridge,

to the ends of the earth,
where the waters meet,
demanding answers, when he turns

and offers: man, my head i bite off
and gift to you but you will
find with it no solace, no

peace, no piece you can prize or
take with you and at the end lies
no wolf.


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