somewhere deep within this mass of skin & bones

perhaps in some unconscious part of my brain,

[beyond gray matter & synapses & neurons & all thought]

part of me is begging you:

touch your hands to the [dead] skin cells on my face,

press your mouth to mine

[against all scientific reason, I believe that this alone

will teach my lungs to take in air]

let’s play

with words

&

we’ll laugh

at fate?

The earth is round.

It still spins even though you are gone.

The sky is blue.

The birds still fly and carry on.

My heart is broken.

It still beats and gives me life.

My soul is bruised.

It still has hope amidst the strife.

Woke up drunk

in Mexico

and I don't even have a passport

Doe eyed downer darling

Something about the past

hurt

Hung up on a hangover

taking tipsy breaths

with cotten gin mouth

Heard the pretty girls that

sow their seed

were starting to head South

My dog watches TV.

He is not a very smart dog.

Whenever an animal appears on the screen, be it real or cartoon, Sherman charges the damned thing. He has won, however. We seldom turn it on anymore, as television is filled with animals that the dog cannot abide, while I cannot abide his infernal barking. Curiously though, on our walks he never meets a dog he doesn’t like. As I said before, he is not a very smart dog, though there is a curious glint to his eye.

So I am trying to teach him to read.

We sit on the porch of an evening while the shadows creep and the swallows circle.

I read Jack London aloud while Sherman watches the squirrels hop o’er the yard.

I am not sure which of us gets the most from the time spent, but I feel better for having tried, even though the dog still can’t read, and isn’t liable to. After all, TV can’t do a dog any good, while Jack London is surely medicinal for man and beast (It is no accident that we picked London). Sherman doesn’t seem to care either way for “To Build a Fire”, but his ears definitely pick up for “White Fang”, and “Call of the Wild”, so there must be at least a lick of sense in there.

Stupid dog will not read it though. He will only listen with pricked ears while he watches the squirrels play under the oaks. Sometimes he is struck with the urge to give chase, but instead he sits back down again to await what the frozen Yukon might present next.

My wife wonders about our combined intelligence, all the same she sits and listens too. Me? I think it is just the dog.

I grab onto an idea;

a thought, that perhaps

I might not be lonely

because of you.

But you

are a human

like me

and because I

am lonely I think

that perhaps you can save me,

& I hold on too hard.

But nature prevents us

from being perfect

for ourselves,

or for each other.

I must find

a better lifeline.

I must find,

for my hopes, and

for myself

a being, perfect

and immovable to nature.