so in a bit, I’m going to have one.
The good stuff, the three-figures a bottle stuff, the MacCallan 1851 Inspiration. For myself, by myself.
Rarely do I ever utter these words, but I’m going to: I need one.
Daily Archives: March 27, 2009
The Dog
The dog
is something: fur
like black moss hanging,
tongue ruddy as a wrist slashed,
bark like a gunshot,
breath foul as the inside
of a bottle of pills.
And,
he talks.
Says the same thing
every time I check the bank account,
stare at the inside frost on the window,
look into the rooms that sit empty
except for the clutter of half-hearted attempts
at creating order.
Says,
I really don’t need to bite you
to prove that I’m still here,
do I?
Dark Matter 