Addicted Animalia

An oasis,
A pool of green and blue water
as cold as mountain snow.

I drink, 
handfuls into my  mouth,
cursing every drop that slips between 
my clenched hands. 

The sand is always stuck under my nails,
and my hair is tossed in it like it was seasoning.
it rubs into the cuts and open wounds on my mind.

A fox with a cigarette and tie
watches from beyond my line of 

I smell him watching me,
waiting for the pool to dry up.

The sands shift over
his paw prints, but
I hear the flick of his lighter and
the burning of pall malls that he inhales
like oxygen.

His mouth is dry, 
he means to drink me,
to write with pens inked 
in my blood.

The sun beats down on the both of us,
I drink from Mímir's magic puddle,
sitting still,
waiting for the fox to make 
his move. seeing wisdom in
the shallow pool.

I’ll make a poem of you yet,
and I’ll smell no more cigarettes 
when you’re gone. 
                            I’ll never wear another tie.

Published by Grant McLaughlin

Poet and Journalist. email me at

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