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Photo by Adam Coleman

her beard is greying this dog one day she will no longer kick me in my sleep. so I take her out tinsel in the bushes mirrors winking in moonlight on that street i forget the name the name’s not important just the feeling of footsteps this animal’s freight train breath. this is the skin i’ve been in since birth one piece in the horror of earth funny how it’s stretched slammed in too tight jeans 6th grade gum elbows bumped in sweaty nightclubs keeping the grease out the guts in so I don’t spill on the floor.

you hold a door words come out water goes in i open my mouth to rain tick tick tick clocks turn back spring forward how does it go it’s just a made up thing but the smell of laundry - that might be real plastic bags tangled in a leash my palms are damp like kids on monkey bars if i had a package of dunkaroos i would eat them somewhere on my teeth that sugar still saying hello

bruises buried beneath that day on the blacktop when my glasses broke you offered me a cookie who are you i forgot i remembered it was chocolate chip and i tripped over legs that didn’t know what running was if i knew your name i would say it it feels closer to what i mean than thank you you forgot what i remembered a blip a post card in a discarded sandwich a rattling can no one can hear but me is that a sound or a dump truck i’ve forgotten what words mean a dog dream.


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