Maybe coyote is your wallet
Maybe coyote is the money in your wallet
Maybe coyote is your tongue and fingertips
Maybe coyote is a voice in your head that says
buy candy or weed
or an obscenely expensive motor vehicle
out of covet or jealousy or envy or boredom
or ennui or depression
Maybe coyote is that Billy Crystal voice that says
it’s better to look good
than to feel good, my friend
Maybe coyote has eaten through your skin
Maybe coyote has gobbled up your heart
Maybe coyote has chomped your bones, sucked your marrow
Maybe coyote has fucked you like a movie star
Maybe coyote has devoured your cock and balls and tits and clit
Maybe coyote has penetrated all your holes,
made them more and more empty
Maybe coyote has become the holes
Maybe the holes have become your soul
Michael Dwayne Smith has appeared in ONE ART Poetry Journal, The Rye Whiskey Review, The Cortland Review, New World Writing, Ethel Zine, Chiron Review, Third Wednesday, and Heavy Feather Review, among many others; a multiple-time nominee for the Pushcart and Best of the Net, he lives near a Mojave Desert ghost town with his family and rescued horses.
