You love me like the artificial
bone loves the dog, leather
smack and toothmark.
I bark at the aqua wall, whimper
when thrown to the Venetian. I fleck
paint, dig nails into sheetrock.
My saliva carpets this floor, all tongue
and hunger, lapping water like
it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
(originally published in Page & Spine, Spring 2017)
i know it’s the other way around
but i see the dogs in people
that intense hunger of waiting
by a wooden door so close to the thrust of opening
i want to eat the walls that keep you away
the doorknob you twist to leave
the blankets you always hide beneath
i hold my waste for hours
the measured discipline
when you speak your breath is memory
what you’ve consumed
i can’t look anywhere else
push me away i cling to you a vestige
of humanity is all remains the last living thing
who would love me
you and your bureaucratic affection
the withholding of every emotion
makes you vulnerable
i was born to want you by my side
you
my lamb
my wishbone
between teeth
like a star holds to gravity
before its collapse
some adherence to light
before the drift
the absolute zero of desire
far from the wild where
we were raised to want
close to where we want to be
(originally published in Viewfinder Literary Magazine, Summer 2016)
Yesterday we were at a pool party
attended by only a few others. It was
dog-friendly, as it was last week,
so the lone, small white dog
lapped water into his mouth
while on an inflatable raft and we
stood in silence and watched as he
drank the blue that held the specks
of fallen leaves and submerged spiders
while our beers turned warm. Last week
we were at a party in the same house
with a few of the same people but the
sun was out and I did not have to keep
wondering if you were okay, if you would
dip your feet into the clear with me and all
the people we did not know then because,
last week, a stranger in a bar did not yet
shake your body and bite you
long after you begged him not to–
no, the night before last week’s party
we danced to nineties hip-hop
inside the shadows of others until
we could not help but mine our
bodies for gold. Last week, we laughed
as the dog lapped the pool into his mouth
but watching, now, we know there are some
who force a tongue at whatever water
they see fit, how they lap and lap
until there’s nothing but a splash
of what they lapped at all.
(originally published in The Collapsar, Summer 2016)
no one else spell w – a –
l – k jus ta invigarate
our senses & tendons
jus me & u, ta be outside
& sniff da wine in roses, .
when ya dance arms a whirlwind i dont speak
cuz i kno a days come we both dancin
& howlin, listen da moon whisprin secrets
& i dont want ya palms leave my full belly
da way da sun snatch ya gone in mornins.
dont want u to wake : it mean some
time u stay , other time da wooden gate
outside squeak & take u where my nose
cant find u, , sometime fa days . i chew
on bones u gave til my tongue become
a skeleton thirstin . , i wait fa blue sky
ta stop ringin da sun , when da day turn
gray , when u somehow materalize ..
dats when i have u : darkness : u sleepin
on ya bed a bleach & purple catmint .
i pray da bright awful requiem dont
replay– when u rise i wonder if
today u turn ta harmony , , or void
& how long . but
wid u beside me ,
no need ta wonder .–
u,, protected , & me ,
nose fulla ya petals ,
da sauvignon in roses .
(originally published in Sediments Literary-Arts Journal, Autumn 2016)
Often I find myself wanting to move
from the dust like a lost, small dog,
fur a summertime shackle.
Those dark winter days
we were our own light.
Lapped the water in from a trough.
We didn’t have to dip (not deeply)
and we’d share our sips freely.
Then Valentine’s Day
came and went.
Meanwhile we sat alone
at our computers,
waiting to press send.
(originally published in The Legendary)
Whenever I let the dog out
onto our small back patio
on sunny afternoons
and he lays on familiar brick
scratching his ears,
nose curious and wandering,
I remember my father
who, in the endless days of retirement,
learned the lawn better
than his calloused palms:
every humpbacked tree and drooping limb,
every snake and gopher hole,
every new and fallen anthill,
every cobweb on the lamppost,
where to find toads after rain,
how to catch them–
when he did not strive to create utopia
by chiseling trees into magazine models,
I often found him on a patch
of freshly-mown grass,
scratching his smoky, sun-basked beard,
waiting for the wind to speak,
to say more to him than I ever did.
(originally published in Black Elephant Lit, Spring 2016)
This dog has seen you paint red the walls
and its color fade from sheetrock.
Rest. You walk butterfly wings,
each step a budding stem.
You and Jack love similarly, a dance
of tongue-and-stomp. Long-nailed
paws clomp heartbeats to the closed
door, painted white– a desire panting
for who is on the other side– and he waits,
as you have, on so many nights.
(originally published in Heartbeat, Issue 2)
bone-worn dog & hung head asked high kids holding lemons,
tangy hair in the air, zest & bitter tantalus–
went to dumpster-cat (blackberry feet)
sick of white gloves, guttural mews.
coarse throat, bumpy pink tongue trickled yesterday’s juices,
held the water, blue sky whirring, whirring– engines / exhaust!
icecream trucks! brahms overture, mary had a little lamb
escaped from jail with vanilla dripping down her hands–
pigeon following, little pecks, boots collected
sidewalk grime and ran, ran, ran!
ask the man skin dandruff collecting flies–
there’s no more room in this bone-white van
still raise you head high, tide bring ‘em to shore
hang you head on my leg say the moon help me beg!
(originally published in Eunoia Review, February 2016)
the not-even-mine salt-and-pepper pup
domesticates me
the longer i hang
the more chameleon my intentions
the smell of sweat from rain-pawed feet
i wave yesterday’s socks
like american flags
i say, speak english –
even though i do not understand
(originally published in White Stag – Volume II, Issue I)
