Corgi, walking man, stopped where I sat.
Climbed onto me, and sat in my laps.
Man apologised, but corgi unmoved.
Only after enough scratches, and a goodbye,
did it resumed walking the man.

we lay in bed and tell each other
which forests we want to carve
our names into, which branches
we hope to knock down, or grow into,
which places we want to make our own
money, our own homes, and our own.
I tell you I don’t know - you tell me you don’t know - we go on to tell each other all of the things we think might be the things we know.
I trust you. and I have to trust
that you trust me to do the things
we lay out on maps. to follow
and veer, and when the engine stalls,
to let go.
I told him, “We’ll have a corgi and a husky”
and you told me, “Plan A is to become an astronaut”
and I tell them over and over
thank you for letting me stay the night.

I wish you would love me as much as your Corgi,
I promise I too would give you unconditional  love and make your life whole.

Browsing, scrolling
Shopping
Consuming

A Blue Guitar,

A Corgi **** pillow.

driving south
to see trees in bloom
after a night of sleeping in the snow
& letting the hail beat up your face,
i can imagine is like
seeing color for the first time.

i am the new wick of a candle--
turned on by spring sun,
hot,
the light shows the beauty in strangers
like red-haired, shirtless Steven
whose eyes graced me with
the radiance of sunlit olive,
a shade i have never dreamed before:
gold & green globs twist in circles
in his irises, like magic

no wonder warm blood of new loves
is harvested in this season.

at the pink rock on the parkway,
i saw a collared corgi get lost,
enamored with strangers.
cannabis clouds coagulate
the air to power young hikers.
i spy front seat fever
in the car next to mine,
heads disappear
into the laps of their lovers.

for me, it is these woods,
the nurturing ways of the willows,
the numbing wind of unspoiled silence
by the glasshouse over the lake.

the bloom of new cycles
in the ancient--
what was always there,
like lovers that are always within,
part of you.
dogwoods crack open
to let us come together in a forested space
where all trails lead to treehouses.

this is my spring love,
this is bliss.

Shivering fingers, cradling a cold clay bowl
with dull roses surrounding the rim.
A Klondike bar cut like a grid on a paper towel.
My grandma used to let me eat one in the living room
"careful of the carpet"
on her yellow couches covered with sticky plastic.
She would play the Elvis Presley Christmas album,
To Ginny written in black sharpie on the sleeve
with a Love always, Mom underneath,
over and over again
while she hung bulbs of wood on the bottom branches
so her Welsh Corgi wouldn't break them with his paws.

Slate slabs with handprints
in purple paint every year for the holiday.
She'd set death aside in a coffin ashtray
to kiss my cheek.
Presley played in the background.

She'd rock
on the front porch in white wicker
coughing into the lid of a Pepsi can
until she'd catch me pressing my nose against the door glass,
tell me to turn around and sit on the couch.
It was too cold for me.
She'd only be a minute.

When we played, I'd hide between the two baskets
in the closet that held her hair products.
I could count all the bottles three times each
before she'd say she was too tired,
put on her coat, grab a white box, and hit play.
I always hated that album.

Now here’s the crazy thing about mental illnesses and poetry.
A pen can be a knife and well,
Vice versa.
Maybe you’d seen me scribbling nonsense on my notes;
Where I should be taking notes instead, mind you.
Believe me, in my mind
I’d have killed everyone in the room,
Maybe including you,
Three times at least
By stabbing them in the eyes
And of course, myself, in the end
By the time I’d have finished the first line.
My mind is a cat that can change its shape.
Sometimes it’s a lazy Persian That wouldn’t get out of its bed
And sometimes it’s a Corgi
That just wouldn’t stop barking.
You must now be thinking
“But Corgi is a dog breed. Aren’t you supposed to be talking about cats?”
Well, and I’m supposed to be out,
Talking to people like everyone else
Instead of complaining here, am I not?
I wish my body was a high school
So that I could report to the principal that
My brain is relentlessly bullying
My heart by making her pay for
Everything that he lacks.

A NIGHT IN SHINING-ARMOR  
From the 8th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.  
  
It was a little while after our trip to the snow at the Shivermetimber Ski Resort, when my Dad said, 'He had some good news'. His brother Albert, who worked as a tour guide, in the very old castle named, Shining Armor, located in the historical town of, Woncy Upon Thames, had invited the whole family to stay a night, in the Shining Armor castle.  
   
The castle would be closed to the public, so they could upgrade the garden's watering system, and do some minor renovations to the old horse stables. He told Dad, 'It might be the only time we could come and stay there'.  
   
Once Dad told us, the good news, the whole family quickly agreed. It would be chance in a lifetime to stay in a castle, and we were all, ever so keen.  
   
Then Mum and Dad told us, 'They would get straight to work, on some super, secret, special, surprises, for the entire Lemmon family to enjoy, while staying at the very old castle.  
   
Only three days to go, and we still didn't know what they were both up to. Dad was busy driving into town and back home again. Then, dad would go straight back into his unusually built and outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed. Our Mum, was coming and going from her very own, colourful, Arts 'n Crafts, hobby room, at the back of the house.  
   
It was now Saturday morning, and my Dad, had got up at the crack of dawn, to pack the car with all of our baggage. But, he soon realised, that he needed more room. So, he decided to hook up our very old trailer, for a bit of extra room. But, he had cleverly, covered up everything that was packed inside, so we couldn't see our super, secret, special, surprises.  
   
We then all got into our family car, and headed off for a night in Shining Armor's very old castle. On the drive there, the whole family pretended we were all travelling to the old castle, in our very own, royal, majestic looking, horse drawn carriage. Dad, pretended to be the head carriage driver, Mum, pretended to be the royal caretaker, while my two, identical, twin sisters declared themselves as, 'The Princess's Emma and Jemma of Shimmerleedimmerlee Estate, to us all', with a pompous smirk on their faces. My little brother had to be, 'Lord Lemmy the Little of Woncy Upon Thames' of course. Smoochy was named, the royals pet Corgi and I of course, was his 'Excellency King Stewy the IIIV'. Oh, what fun was had by all, travelling to the old castle, while pretending to be and talking just like, real royals, would do.  
   
Upon entering the castles estate, we even got to drive across the drawbridge and through the large fortified gates. Our Uncle Albert, was waiting for us at the foot of the stairs. He then opened all of our pretend horse drawn carriage doors. We all stepped out and burst into laughter and our Dad, jokingly said, to our Uncle Albert, 'You can take the royal baggage to our rooms, and then make our dinner on time, and don't forget the fine wine'. Then, with a grin, Uncle Albert said, 'Will that be all sir'?  
   
The whole family then walked up the front stairs, through the grand entrance, and into the foyer that had a massive staircase, right in the middle.  
   
Wow! I thought, 'What it must have been like, to live as a king'.  
   
We all went upstairs to our very own bedrooms, to take a warm bath. While we were bathing, Mum, crept in and laid our super, secret, special, surprise over our beds. Dad went to the trailer and took off the cover. Then, he hid our other super, secret, special, surprise in the castle's large garden shed.  
   
We were all so happy with our Mum's surprise. Our clever Mum, had handmade us all, colourful and flamboyant, royal attire. We would all wear them to dinner, like a real King and Queen would surely desire.  
   
The dining table was like, twenty-feet long, Mum and Dad couldn't even see me, if I happened to do anything wrong. After the main course and after plenty of talk, our Uncle Albert said, 'I'll be back in a sec'. Mum asked, 'If he needed a hand, but he said, 'No thanks, I'm just going to fetch the desserts, so I won't be too long'.  
   
He was gone for quite a while, when all of a sudden, the doors swung open, and in came a knight in shining armour. My Dad fell off his chair, still holding onto a small royal jug, and ended up with apple sauce all over his face.  
   
While, both my two, older, identical, twin sisters, just started to dream real fast, for they both had the same identical thought, that their husband to be, had come to take them away at last. I thought, 'It's so funny, how the brains of identical twins seem to work'. Then, Smoochy had jumped straight back into my top left-hand side pocket, full of fright.  
   
Then, the knight started to laugh, and said out loud, 'Will that be all sir'? For it was our funny Uncle Albert, playing a practical joke on us all, and saying, 'That he was now equal, now that his brother Archie, had got his just desserts'.  
   
In the morning, Dad went to the large garden shed and brought out his super, secret, special, surprises. For he had made, four homemade, rocking horses for us all to enjoy. A little one for Lemmy: a medium sized one for me; and two identical, but, much larger ones, for my two, much older, identical, twin sisters, Emma and Jemma.  
   
We got dressed again, in our colourful and flamboyant, royal attire, which we had worn to the royal dinner, the night before. After a day full of horsing around and even playing chess, on the outside, gigantic, playing board, it was time to say farewell to Uncle Albert.  
   
We thanked him for the invite, and for having made our trip, such a ball. For the wonderful trip we had, staying a night in Shining Armor's very old castle. All the while, pretending to be royals, and even dancing in the great hall. But we all knew, it couldn't really happen in real life, that's for sure.

struck by lightning twice by twenty-four
this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed,
this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med,
and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second

this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo  
but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt
on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow
grow heavy, even in the bright lights
of his operating theater

his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age
his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks
number three was the neighbor with whom they shared
nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares

her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and  
she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two  
was lying with others to stand himself  

when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more
than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen,
and half the 401K

to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons  
while she married menacing molecules to one another
in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions
asked by the dying she would never meet
a lump would only grow in her throat    
if she thought his scalpel never sliced
the heart of number four, for five

tiger, he was,
could not honestly,
tell you the breed...
he was a mispent afternoon's produce....
but by the stock of his body
and the smile on his face
some one's prize corgi,
was now in disgrace...

allways a smile and a little
yip-yap...
he was my childhood,
of running and jumping,
just because, we could.
the picking of blackberries,
the finding of mushrooms,
wandering along creeks
and afternoon naps,
with his soft furriness,
under my palm....

mottled through, ginger
and blue,
with an under-carriage,
supposedly white,
but more often muddy or dustily brown....

a co-conspirator of the highest degree....
would  sit under the table
and eat pumpkin for me.
but not the beans....
they made him smell...

his tongue so long and pink,
his ears ***** and mobile, tail was docked,
but his *** it did wag,
with such a unique style.

he was my childhood,
but then,
he was gone...
off to chase rabbits up
on the farm...

good boy tiger....good boy
you where my protector
with you i came to no harm...

The difference between a
Corgi and a Kilt is that one
does not need to lift a Kilt
to see if a Corgi's got *****.