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Madness and Mothering

She found a coyote's den,
discarded her clothes,
crouched down.
Howling came easily
from her throat
like a purr
and the dominant male,
though lacking in grace,
made his way to her place,
lent his shade to her shelter.
Pups born that Spring
had hands like stars,
tails clipped in ribbons
and they sang of meat,
fresh and sweet.
They took her away
in a sirened wagon,
wrapped in a cloak
of coyote skin,
her hands fingering wet stains
that looked like stars
printed in blood.

18 Oct 11

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What is this poem about. The title has madness in it. That can explain the surreality of it. Lets say bob dylan would get this.
 — unknown

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