Saturday, January 17, 2015


Envious of that
rotary phone reality,
hip forward walk
through the screen door
to the sound of a ring
(some things are actual),
and I’m still
hung up on her.
If she were perfume
she’d be named
Reason To Live
and all the lonely
dogs and goats would
buy her by the bottle
at the drugstore,
coat their bodies in her mist,
cloak their lazy head colds,
the sheets of their death beds,
sleepily shut their  
heavy liquor lids
to the sound of
the spray.

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