That taught line,
pulling the neck,
saves the brute from
flinging himself,
headlong,
into a fracas,
into traffic,
into the ass of another dog
obediantly trotting along,
blissfully unaware
that too much freedom
hurts almost as much
as none at all.
Some Dogs Need the Leash
in
That taught line,
pulling the neck,
saves the brute from
flinging himself,
headlong,
into a fracas,
into traffic,
into the ass of another dog
obediantly trotting along,
blissfully unaware
that too much freedom
hurts almost as much
as none at all.
Reflections While on Hold
in
Speaking with a woman on the phone, he would begin to imagine, in her voice, the way she smelled: the vanilla scent of Oki Hirashimo, the fade of mothballs and lemons from the old woman with the last name Zuro. A desperately hazy image blossomed and sharpened as his nostrils tasted the phantom scents.
Would That Life Were Equally Indellible
in
It isn't so much that one cannot erase,
but that when one puts rubber to paper,
to turn a phrase,
the paper fights back.
smeared, smudged but basically
forgotten,
history leaves nothing behind. It carries in a satchel
all that it knows,
waiting.
This, I Expect, Was an Accident
in
It took me a while to figure it out,
you know.
But once I did,
I let it lie.
I'm an easy one on
forgiving.
I hoped it would go away.
But there it was,
one day.
Staring me in the face
when I asked if I could check my messages.
Was that on purpose?
Contemporary psychology would have me
bet yes.
But I don't think so.
That's the optimist in me,
I guess.
The optimist isn't home right now though,
so it's harder,
right now.
What's interesting?
Your words were sweet,
about him.
My heart was crushed,
but when I closed them,
I was presented with the option
to destroy them for good.
I couldn't.
Even in that moment,
as always,
I was protecting what was yours.
I'm an easy one on
forgiving.
I let it lie,
and hoped it would go away.
I suppose it didn't after all,
considering.
This is only the second time I have told the truth,
about a woman.
The first was when I fell in love.
The Wagon Didn't Move, I Did
in
It's begun again, again.
And for now, I listen.
No telling how long this will last.
But as patterns go,
this one is cut from the same cloth,
and so will fall away,
soon,
scissors sweeping--
snip,
snip,
snip.
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