Intravenous Juries

The dog on the back porch barely made a sound as it wrestled with the knob. Knowing your limitations makes everything easier.

The rooster was always sleeping when it came time to wake us. Too busy fertilizing eggs that would ultimately be scrambled. So we'd stay asleep and continue dreaming distorted effigies of the night before. Affixing halos to horns. And pitchforks to wings. In the neon colors of sleep. Reasoning. In our frail delirium. That wrong and right would make perfect lovers.

The doorway resting on his shoulders. As wide as a hooker's vagina. The window piercing his smile. Like the scalpel of a drunken surgeon. He was ready to leave. And I was thinking I should be ready to let him go.

Isn't that what lies were created for?

To prove them strangers once they're gone.