by Doug Rawlings
“If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face…”  — Wilfred Owen

Each night of the full moon my dreams
reinvent Wilfred Owen’s wagon wheel
only to hoist it up forged anew
above the fairgrounds
to carry our ripest youth
over the carnival
and into the night air

Where fingering the stars
and devouring the lusty fireworks
they never fail to feel
too late
the ferris wheel turn
to drop them off
one by one
into some jungle
where the meat wheel squeals
in delight

Like a buzz saw through green pine
devouring the moon
oiling its teeth
on their succulent pleas