Mongrels

Bark louder. Now softer. Change your song. Whet your fangs. Meat is anxious. The cellar is stiff with dead things and dinner. Truth and plump lips touch below the grime in the secret arithmetic of time. The kind of toxic inspiration that certain lives require.

Keep grey the cellophane documents of touch. Nervous catapults on their last war. Stabbing the silence with bent blades. Carving the path with burnt matchsticks. Let spill the empty gallows. Narrow intersections ugly with traffic. Steal the storm from the gods. And are overcome by it.

Race quietly in burgundy forests. Tall with sickness. A ceiling of want erases the sky. Makes us big. Makes us small.

Eyes like sunburn. Words lile gangrene.

Pluck the fog. Strings seep toward the sun. In a murder of choices. Stones in the belly. Razors in the head. Barking a path from here to then.

Matter divisible and swiftly accused. Meat on the floor. Shit in the corner. The window open. The door closed.