the wolves wear their fangs in gaunt confessions. an engorged yes studded with famished noes.
why wait for time to give us permission. we're still young enough to make it chase us.
the piglets built their houses again from what was left. after they'd been blown down.
why argue with the disaster. when it's easier to start anew.
the corners pretend to know our path. broken roads chew on our flesh.
grandmother slips out of her nightgown. her end our beginning.
why carry the picnic basket into the woods. knowing its contents.
because our hunger still persuades us.
that the story has a happy ending.
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