throwin' a bone

I don’t know dogs.

throw a bone and

what does the dog do-

salivate, crunch, chew,

suck the marrow of it,

the choicest bit.

that done,

what then does the dog do?

were it a stick-

like a boomerang,

retrieval and return.

but with that damn bone:

nothing.

and the pith sucked out.

alone

left behind on a city street,

the cold almost there,

my breath a small puff

of carbon for the concrete

on the block to absorb.

no one was there to pull

me in to keep me from

thinkin’ that I was all alone.

she is dead

she was dead. as a door nail.

but she looked great. really.

her tiny nails polished red,

nose powder dusted.

they found the dress she

wore to her grand-daughter’s

wedding in the back of the closet:

black velveteen with sparkles,

she’ll be dancin’ in heaven surely.

in her repose, her memory found

its way back – her brow free of

loss and confusion. pretty settled.

even her spectacles magically

resurfaced to find her face.

mourners chatted easily about,

her life was lived long and

they were used to her in it,

but I’d never seen her before and

there is no doubt about it,

she was dead. but she looked good.

frost

stumbling toward hibernation,
pawing familiar tracks in darkness;
first frost, petal snow
whisper in the arctic air.
sadly, autumn's sleepy squint
neglects to reveal the inevitable-
that ice storms again to freeze
anything that may have held life.
I retreat into you
though suffocating in the stale air
trapped since my last sleep.

that's all I know

her dad is dead.

when he was well,

they’d go to the ball park

to cheer on their

boys of summer,

lovable losers

that they are.

when he got too old,

maybe too tired,

they settled for

radio broadcasts

in the home.

when I saw her last,

she sat quietly,

listening to me

spin yarns,

she didn’t tire-

said so herself.

that’s all I know.

him

muscled smooth tight round fire
in my belly
melting spots squeezed
during roller coaster rides.
standing - centered,
falling into a tight space,
steam escaping from a seam
that used to be my sex.
he inhaled
faster than I could
clutch shut.

bittersweet

along woods wrapped 'round barb'd,
on labyrinth of snarled bark, 
orange-cupped wings float bitter hearts.