what you are to me is what you have shown me. a brown and black dog, Apocalypse, wearing your old handkerchief, the one you had tied around your leg the night the kids next door moved away, the ones you and your sister traded little purple hair clips and tie-dyed scrunchies with, sitting under the apple tree in the backyard, you both cried for days, all the creases wore out by now.
her weathered collar grips the veins in her neck, blocking hidden tunnels you discovered with your friends on the river, the ever-rushing power of experience and knowledge can last one second, yet you can remember the last time you saw a person forever. while we travel through these tunnels casting growing shadows, thoughts in the dark, helpless without a companion to, at the very least, eat with.
sharp, white teeth clamp down like a decaying bridge, falling as perfect puzzle pieces at the bottom of it all. she yawns with her tongue out. neatly trimmed dog nails hang over the back-seat of some mini van or station wagon, or something, screaming through the oldest highways the middle of America has ever known, with punk rock mix tapes splurging from the middle dash. the center of it all.
sitting on her seat belt, she barks when she's upset, whether when reminded of the world's flawless impurities that hide in the dark, usually to kill the human spirit before its twentieth year,
(when it neeeeeds a career,
and the money is dear,
leaving small things to fear,
scared of everything you hear,
coming right up the rear;)
the reality we share
or, the lonesome half-moon sitting on her shoulder, mumbling and drunk with affection; the day i saw you standing in the kitchen where i daily cook and breathe i may have met you, but she is how i know you.
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