When You Lie Down You Get Up Again and There Are Fleas
as Well Bed Bugs
The fuckwad’s translating again. She the dog pets, she the dog
feeds with a supper, she the dog walks on a leash. She
the dog found down by the brook, she the dog out by the fence.
Mending. She the dog red supper meat. She the dog
dish full of chiggers. She the dog and handful of nape.
Dog the wolf with teeth from the junker. Dog the wolf
with a headful of pace. Dog wolfing up on the rag rug.
Dog the wolf filed to singularity, the tip of its species,
and the shiv of its wild.
But the fuckwad sings it, I'd rather my itch scratch than
bed down the curb.
Author Discusses Poems