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 … Read more
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
i fall sometimes into the vacant space that place in the bed where we lay at night before boy takes me away before boy feeds me meat Repeated by popular demand
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
