| This Edition's Poetry |
Within me
there are wolves in my car-park,
prowling amongst the cars,
stalking my unconscious.
lean, deep grey monsters set on garbage or my soul flesh.
my demons disguised as beasts;
they are werewolves or not,
possessed of thinking,
plotting,
perhaps not,
but I will not walk amongst them,
for one fears one might be wrong.
by Violette Rose-Jones
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