Monday, April 12, 2010

a girl and her dog (for Ricardo Reis)

if the walk she took were a tugged one


the thoughts bespotted

maybe dropped like shit

something to be discarded by plastic

of course there’d be plenty more

mosaically patterened as it were

to deal with hide and hair

to plea bargain with a bark

a noticeable limp

a wet nose

chewing through gardens

pissing on the roses

if she were the walk

if dogs didn’t have names

if sunshine craved leaves

something in the zygomatics of things in genereal might be hampered


really what seamstress would not lend felt to the cold

hard handed or justly heavy

unto the murk of saddled waiting

she would then be thrown

half had in a give

toward an anurous hope

where spit cracks the eyes of windowed gazes

or the way she squats to handle the defecated turd

crimps the stylish pleat of skirt

or cramps the hamstring’s misgivings


the moral of the whole damn thing


if you really want to know

that trying never implores guilt for mercy

or something like that

I forget