George Klawitter

Gray Eyes Quiet over steel, gray eyes focus from his soul out into a light murky with the smoke that night mists from the evening’s hocus-pocus. Useless to resist the power of his eyes when they fix you with a stare meant to kill, then eat, over glare from iris glinting off the starry skies. No message from the touch of quiet paws as he firms, intent for a strike lightning-swift, jagged, nothing like the velvet rationale of laws. Once you’re meshed between his teeth, accept new life his way through his flesh, turgid, understood he’s master, the guess of “no” absorbed to “yes” above, beneath.

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