- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Savage Island
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The pretty animals emerge at night
wet, salty and cryptic as selkie folk
in tight pants, daringly gaping blouses,
plumped lips and carefully tousled hair
all in pursuit of fat and willing prey.
In the morning the victims lay
sprawled on doorsteps and sidewalks,
bled white, flesh torn, eyes frozen
in the final terror of their demise.
Prim lawyers, accountants, wannabe VPs
step carefully so as not to soil their shoes
on their way to their working lives.
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