Alaska

I am the mongrel hound howling outside your window.
Belly on the ground I am beaten dog and I howl
and I howl
and my tail is not made for wagging.

I am the tundra and I am vast and resilent and soft until you hit permafreeze, until the wind sweeps you away
but who needs trees anyway

Or maybe I am the wind howling on the tundra
I forgot about the howling
there needs to be howling
that is all that I am -
I am just the howling
who needs trees, who needs a body

somebody was writing this and they wanted to know who I am, but goddammit it's not my responsibility. How could it be? As of yet I am formless, ambiguous, less than a figment of an uninspired passionless intention.