The Coyote Killers

Howl something

you want heard,

guaranteed

you’ll be hunted.

Howl something

sweet and it won’t

matter either.

Someone will start

a murder club built

for your friends,

holding contests

for the most killed.

They’ll shoot, yell,

smoke you out of

your own company,

take a sharp right

when they could’ve

made a left turn,

leaving the cold

meats of a movement

quelling in the sun.

Gunned-up hides,

dogs barking backward.

Our growls only get

more bountiful from

here, honey.

A gust through a forest

of lowered eternities.

When a baby comes,

they’re born on behalf

of the lost.