Sometimes I Wish We Were a Beagle
for Sonny If I was in love with you for no reason, I would die in the road waiting for you to scratch my head before school. I would have too many tapeworms. So many you could scratch their heads. So many they would help you on the bus because of all your crying. A witness sees inside & says aloud. If I was in love with you for one reason, it would be the way you carry your cage around. You look like a loaf of bread with a life knifed into it. If I was in love with you for money, I wouldn’t be me, now would I? I would be a hairy train—you could hear me crying all the way to heaven. You could hear me dying all the way to loving how you let me slobber on your face like a decent sacrifice.
Meanwhile on the Moon
Over Mare Imbrium basin, birds are bland, diamonds with boiled wings, bullet holes valued higher than our very breath. Even here the downpours come to party, leave with empty lungs. We bob for bloodshot eyes in buckets of buttermilk, these our current incarnations. Every year the fragments of worship from centuries before finally arrive, full of soft light, wave admiration. We feed the world these words & take the forms of frightened horses like a dark glitch, drain your language of love & leave our bodies long enough to lick your sightless lives once more.
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