when I’m not scolding him
for
thieving
barking
jumping
or eating something nasty
he watches me like a baby
does a mother’s face
or snores rich bellyfuls
or sleeps in twisted bliss
it seems with innocence
forgetfulness is the equivalent
of forgiveness
up all night writing because I wanted some sparkling revelation to offer this morning but words failed and I have nothing to show but the sloppy stains of scribbles and cross-outs maybe I'll learn som
truth aches when an overread book is continually misunderstood or when a love that needs to shout is left to linger unspoken on lips
to this swirling existence we write about so why not dabble in the dialect and points of view? use solitary clouds and footprints fresh stains and old smells the embraces of snakes turn words upside d