Branches

*
You know that book by your bed?
The one you picked up again recently?
I have that book too.
I love it, but this time
It’s just not the same.
I get about 15 to 20 pages in
and lay it back down.

*
Morning comes
like the whirlwind of youth
and branches begin to fall
like the pages of that book
and I carry those pages away
down the road
where the deer cross
and I lay them back down.

*
And so we wade in the pages
waiting among the branches
for a new day
…a new book.
One that we can
pick up again
and hold up to the sun
and never lay it down.

Dog

Everything makes
sense when I am
petting God’s dog.

The solar eyes of
the beast are illuminating
my electric landscape.

All intricacies are
cosmically ordered,

so the swap land
is froggy with
mosses and ferns.

The animals are
pushing the fence
of progress; pushing

until the wires snap
and the stagnant water
flows into the river.

Dog. Dog, Dog;
I love this adventure.

Dog,

Let’s go fishing.

Dog,

Let’s climb a mountain.

Dog,

The valley.

Dog,

The village.

Dog,

Let’s build a castle on the outskirts, Dog.

Dog,

you’re my dog forever Dog.

I love you.

The Tapping

It is he who walks beyond the emotional cycle

with binary-glyphics and biorhythmic stasis.

For public interest, becomes a graph of physical

health and average habits. When on the heath

with bay steeds, spent critical days tapping hooves.

But as the horses die from lack of the right beating

the tapping becomes the sound of rows of roofing

peeling back to reveal TVs slowly tugging the tennis ball

eyes, just slow enough and with the right amount of

pressure on the optic nerve; the iconic pain-isolating

threshold that awkwardly soothes the strangling of brain

stems and leaves two lips half puckered for the electron beam.