& the dog, rolling thunder.
Both of us as content as bachelors.
Me & the dog, that is.
Me & the dog, quaking in our boots
about the storm outside.
& I think I might write about
the window, smashing sober.
The glass, scattering on tiles.
The dog would probably lose her shit.
I would probably lose my shit.
But I just stick to itó
my hair, today, a river,
my hair, last weekóan open flame.
I ask the dog for her opinion but all she gives me
is more introspection.
More lightning, flashing teeth. More bathwater,
stagnant. My legs water board.
My legs hydroplane.
The dog, a jolly roger.
The faucet, a skull & cross bones.
& the dog, rolling thunder. We
both long to scamper from the room,
to take refuge under mattresses,
maybe under blankets to
chew on a bone or perhaps read one thousand novel pages.
Cover one eye.
Let the dog bark her heart outó
nature fearing nature.
Human avoiding the hallway.