dogpoet

The strangest thing about it was how strange they all made it seem.

Nothing will be right until we eat poems like paper peaches
Falling backwards into 
Grocery carts and empty souls
Double dipped in the Atlantic
It’s frantic how we

I can remember being five years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor and finding out that trees breathe. That they inhale the carbon dioxide we humans puff into the atmosphere, and release the oxygen we chug every second of our lives.

I am hungry, so hum me melodies
Sing me seashells and 
Write me in as a rebel.
I am hungry, so feed me infinities
Author autumns and
Ink in cottonwood trees.
Goodness knows we don’t have enough
Oxygen to breathe.