untitled

slow roll of belly fat
to protect my organs
the space between my legs
from marauders
like that one who stood above me naked
possessed by the dark demons
he saw in my bedroom
asking if he could come inside while i lay drugged

i need a pack leader with a soft voice gravelly in his throat like river rock and quieting firm hands
that know what to do
i need a friend who is not simply desiring of the glamour brought by my poetry
and publication
or afraid of the demons who have been stalking me
someone who won't call them demons, just bad luck or chance or life
i need a hunter, a woodsman
someone who thinks in solutions and then crafts them
who outwits the bad luck
who points his arrow at me and when i fall in the mulch and moss and violets
runs over on the legs of trees and bends and gathers
me up