the dog downstairs has not stopped barking, ceaselessly, with the stamina of sisyphus. he must know something i don’t, like the baby at the bar who looks a million miles beyond, unattached to the taste of tiramisu, the torment of the lover’s last kiss, before Hallmark cards become bitter and isn’t the sound of paper rustling and ripping so satisfying? the letters no longer form words among the gashes inside and outside this skeleton, no crew
the terrier downstairs is still barking, ceaselessly, sisyphus gone dog. he knows something i don’t, like the baby at the bar who gazes a million miles beyond, unattached to the taste of pub cherry pie, or the snare of the lover’s last kiss, before Hallmark cards grown curdled and isn’t the thick certainty of paper ripping so satisfying? the letters no longer leashed into words among the gashes inside and outside this skeleton, no crew
the terrier downstairs is still barking, ceaselessly, sisyphus gone dog. does he know no one hears? strive for unbothered, like the baby at the bar unimpressed by the taste of pub cherry pie, deaf to the ache of a first lover’s last goodbye. a drawer of gnarled Hallmark cards and the terrier’s pleas go unheeded, his warning ignored in favor of the gluttonous rip of thick paper, curdled and sick with fear. isn’t this freeing? the letters no longer leashed into words that wield and score and gash, powerless inside and outside this skeleton, no crew
when the gone dog won’t stop barking i wonder if their turmoil mirrors that of the baby at the bar, though it escapes more ferociously than baby’s unimpressed daze sisyphean, i consider not caring, shutting out that ache, as dog tears book with a gluttonous rip of thick paper that i should have thought about before i left it in dog’s reach though i am dog baby and book at any given point in the day i am still curdled and sick with fear, enameled like a cherry in that fossilized pub pie. isn’t this freeing?