Tag Archives: dog

Behind an Open Door


If only tomorrow would fail to come
And this burden from her chest were lifted,
There was no end, this day were simply done,
This were the number of her days gifted.
There was sleep she sought, and the sleep sought her,
Flattering, that the void felt incomplete.
Eternity and nothing now a blur,
Like the moment a dog dies in the street.
She sits there and thinks and opens her eyes,
And stares at the next soul who might save hers.
So many moments, this too passes by,
What if she’s made to go on as a curse?
Unique. Never again, never before,
She tries to hide behind an open door.

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A Dog Finds


I find a speck. Sniff.
What is this thing? I must know.
To know more, I lick.

Puppy Teeth

My struggle with the darkened arms
Of sleep,
The solstice of suffering.
Sleep holds me here, her black arms betray
A sense of woe and sorrow,
Dreading the hour I awake and abandon
My dreaming.
There, much like suffocating,
Pain is but a memory waiting,
Like so many lost puppies
That have followed me home.
This time a mistake:
I’ve given them names to take,
Sleep is no relief as I do not dream.
The puppies teeth are ships that sink
As my flesh becomes a sea.

Dogs Do Not Weep

She stares into the distance
At nothing. At something.
Expecting sight to be rewarded with newness.
Queens have risen and died, kings have fallen,
In the time she took to realize
Her place was small.
Dogs do not look upon the fallen and weep.
She stood, to eternally be.
Just that, to be.
What did she stand to do?
She reached down,
And helped her neighbor to his feet.