"The Animal Animal Comes Home"

  The White. Bat. Rises.
  The Red. Wolf. Surmises.
  Your Wanton. Throat. Advises.

  The White. Bat. Abates.
  The Red. Wolf. Hesitates.
  And Your Wanton. Throat. Stagnates.

  Leave your keys in the door and let your black leather wings slough off to the floor.
  A crumpled heap atop the tiger pelt, fur on wet fur.
  Stacks of skins peeled off and hung out to dry on white lines stretched taught.
  Catgut violin strings plucked with your claws caught slash through the linens.

  Everything is muscular; birch wood strains against the screws
  And the wind howls with a dusty mouth craning to meet greased lightning.
  Come home, and shed your strings of pearls while the last light
  Creeps cautiously through the lock.