This old dog out of dogdom,
in all of bones scattered elsewhere remaining
to be unseen, hidden in old glory and flushed lives
In all their shapes and sizes they have
their bow-legs and their collarbones dangerously
recoiling in and out as if to ****** fully bare
for me to see -- invisible hands for invisible reapings they go ******** clad else there was wind
in all rooms winnowing to make good use of
my time and unhinge the doors to toss them out
of their senses and into mine
letting them wear me thin like paint to turpentine,
in this house that refuses to let go
of fragrances underneath this cold rondure
I have forgotten how it was to love
and clad myself fat with flattened foolishness
not having loved enough to remember their
weights crushing my bones so dearly feigned
my eyes and skins love-crumbled and
positioned to surpass their flow amidst breaths
held like ******* or my collected body going
into another's and completely vanishing
in a thick scent of fluids so virulent and mundane,
putting a smile on my face and an anchor
to my wrongness as if to drag along ineluctable
and loveless down the stream of many names
i will confess to my first-born son
so we can fill parks and stare at them once more,
laughing at how they have broken us.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 3:14 AM UTC
This old dog out of dogdom,
in all of bones scattered elsewhere remaining
to be unseen, hidden in old glory and flushed lives
In all their shapes and sizes they have
their bow-legs and their collarbones dangerously
recoiling in and out as if to ****** fully bare
for me to see -- invisible hands for invisible reapings they go ******** clad else there was wind
in all rooms winnowing to make good use of
my time and unhinge the doors to toss them out
of their senses and into mine
letting them wear me thin like paint to turpentine,
in this house that refuses to let go
of fragrances underneath this cold rondure
I have forgotten how it was to love
and clad myself fat with flattened foolishness
not having loved enough to remember their
weights crushing my bones so dearly feigned
my eyes and skins love-crumbled and
positioned to surpass their flow amidst breaths
held like ******* or my collected body going
into another's and completely vanishing
in a thick scent of fluids so virulent and mundane,
putting a smile on my face and an anchor
to my wrongness as if to drag along ineluctable
and loveless down the stream of many names
i will confess to my first-born son
so we can fill parks and stare at them once more,
laughing at how they have broken us.
Request permission to use this poem