i am taunted by the last fly of the year.
it keeps me away from my fire, my bed.
the wind outside howls like a dog uncertain.

–
process note: like, you know, i have not written a poem in a while. my life is, like, complicated and busy. owning a business, going to the park, macking bitches…it’s get a little heavy. so’ah, like, i’m taking december off to, you know, chill.

some days, Woman dresses
in pink pajamas
like rabbit meat
in my bowl

These words
so true and powerful
have been written for you, my dear loved sister
for it is on this day
that you first handed me your rawhide
half chewed and smelling sweetly of your breakfast
from the morning before.

Is there anything greater
          I ask
Than watching your pet linger with her bowl
              linger with her happiness

to you
i write
for you
i am
with me
we eat

in the portland rain
one can only hope to find
themselves
not alone
not without a fire
not without a companion
not without meat

so, like, april is meat poetry month and as a Ridgeback entrepenaur who deals in both meat and poetry, i, like, offer you my first meat poem for the month of april.

april rain
blood is washed away and I
yes I
am once again pure

The clouds, like rain today.
I drain myself clear
in the yard, let fog disappear
in a roll not unlike
a meat tube.
My meal gone too,
I’m called, again and again,
to what nearly tastes
like gravy coming down.

Meat Gravy Upsidedown