Writing

There’s a dog that sits on the end of my street—

he barks at anyone that nears,

snarling teeth that glow shiny in the afternoon light. 

There’s a dog that sits on the end of my street—

One day, I want to be as strong as my shadow;

waking up, running,

falling asleep, dreaming.

Made from muscled arms and soft angles. 

I dreamt

it was next year

everyone I loved was there

tall chairs

light work

not reality

everyone

perfect

I woke up and I felt his love

butterfly wings against my cheek

Driving home, nine at night.

I look up to stare at the stars,

But I can't tell the difference between the stars and satellites.

What a sad time,

50 fathoms crushing down 

Crashing waves on granite ground  

Whitecaps framed by fading sky 

High above  

On cliffs I lie

It followed him like a curse. Every step he took, the tick tick ticking of his heart echoed in the chamber of his ears, trailing him in the hallways, threatening to expose all that he was.