stray dog,
please stop begging.
i could afford to feed you once,
and i vowed not once more.

stray dog,
please stop returning.
i can’t afford the pet deposit,
and i can’t leave you a place outside to sleep.

stray dog,
please don’t get excited,
as i load you into a carrier in the car,
and i head to the nearest shelter.

stray dog,
you are lost and seeking a home,
and i’m protecting you from the place
you think you’ve grown to know.

colby,
i hear that’s what you go by now.
i hope your forever home treats you well;
i’m moving next week.

what is a wolf but teeth?
do we blame the creature, or the extension used?
what is prey but inspiration?
do we blame instinct, or the act of running?
claws are to sinew, as the hunt is to temptation;
do not fault a predator for its true purpose.
prey left without culling will eat themselves dry;
a necessary evil instilled in the cycle of life to assure balance.
however, what is a predator without prey?
hunters left without game will cave to survival;
first the weak, then the young, then...
when it’s down to the last two wolves,
think not of temptation, of inspiration
think of teeth, of survival:
life to the predominant.
it has always been, always will be.
when you see a lone wolf,
do not pity it;
know nature has selected the strongest.

dear mockingbird,
what made you swear silence?
it’s unlike your species to become selective mutes,
or, perhaps,
is it because you’ve tired of your sole performance?
you’ve become a broken record,
stuck on repeat:
the same song and dance.
you didn’t know what else to sing,
didn’t know any other tune.
this will become your swan song.

i’m haunted by her beauty.
i suppose it’s not natural to write about the ghosts
that reside in your home,
but that’s why they call it the supernatural, right?
or, perhaps it’s superficial;
i don’t even know her name.

i rent a modest cabin deep in the woods,
surrounded by only the wildlife.
i have no neighbors,
but that’s fine,
as the residence is rumored to be haunted;
i’ll have plenty of company.

the house-warming party toasted to good spirits,
however, none of those are here;
i appreciated the gesture anyway.
there’s a scream when a light bulb bursts in the kitchen.
at least i found humor in the play on words.

i ****** handfuls of sand
and envisage i am an hourglass.
i enumerate the seconds in my head,
but my fingers leak more grains
than i can keep pace with,
far too fleeting to be unerring.
this nonsuccess only induces me
to think of time and its relativity;
of a man who complains that it’s only tuesday,
of a man who complains that it’s already tuesday.
i dub my left hand frank,
and my right jacob,
then wonder why it’s still monday.

a blood-dyed string of destiny unites us,
from end to hematic end.
i dance and strafe,
to and fro,
skirring the breath-thin thread.
it’s not til’ i’m entangled
that i discern the red is my own alone.
my place in this web i apperceive,
while you perch upon the heart of the now gossamer,
like the right widow you are.

ferocious as a fever,
my fervor haunts me.
devourer of the excess;
a true glutton consummately.
my craving impetus,
but who am i to impugn?

roused by my sin,
a prisoner of desire.
never embracing the retribution for vice,
i lie and confess;
the reckoning of my awakening
not steeling the growl of my stomach.

far from decorous,
but in good taste,
i am a man of hunger,
of foul intent;
no fowl could curb my voracity.
gluttony never settled for appetizers.