Over And Over
Tune
You could grow into
it,
that sense of living like a dog,
loyal to being on your own in the fur of your skin,
able to exist only for the sake of existing.
that sense of living like a dog,
loyal to being on your own in the fur of your skin,
able to exist only for the sake of existing.
Nothing inside your head
lasting long enough for you to hold onto,
you watch your own thoughts leap across your own synapses and disappear --
small boats in a wind,
fliers in all that blue,
you watch your own thoughts leap across your own synapses and disappear --
small boats in a wind,
fliers in all that blue,
the swish of an arm backed
with feathers,
a dress talking in a corner,
a dress talking in a corner,
and then poof,
your mind clean as a
dog's,
your body big as the world,
your body big as the world,
important with accident
--
blood or a limp, fur and
paws.
You swell into
survival,
you take up the whole
day,
you're all there is,
you're all there is,
everything else is
not you, is every passing glint, is
not you, is every passing glint, is
shadows brought to you by
wind,
passing into a bird's cheep,
replaced by a
rabbit skittering across a
yard,
a void you yourself fall into.
a void you yourself fall into.
You could make this
beautiful,
but you don't need
to,
living is this fleshy side of the bone,
living is this fleshy side of the bone,
going on is this medicinal
smell of the sun --
no dog ever tires of seeing
his life
keep showing up at the
back door
even as a rotting bone with a bad smell;
feet tottering, he dreams of it,
wakes and licks no matter what.
~ Ioanna Carlsen ~
even as a rotting bone with a bad smell;
feet tottering, he dreams of it,
wakes and licks no matter what.
~ Ioanna Carlsen ~
(Poetry, March
2001)
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