Photo courtesy of Jon Deboer

Dogs Biting Dusty Heels

It took three stops

before I found a bar open at 10 am,

it took an hour for the dog

next door to stop yapping,

it took all day for the

woman next door to stop

crying and all night

for her to stop moaning,

the market ran out of Irish

whiskey and the heel of my shoe

came apart while I was

walking after my car broke

down outside the gun shop.

I had a dream about a recent love,

I fucked a girl that had poor

taste in literature,

and I told myself the sky

was blue enough to hold

a bottle of vodka.

today a newborn’s

circumcised,

tomorrow a newborn’s

circumcised,

I’m already circumcised

but life is still after

my balls.

There is death at every

turn,

and the drinking

is a peace offering

to lunacy.

that’s the deal:

if I do my part

to kill myself off

life won’t try so hard.

but this I know:

every day is a

dog, biting the

heels of tomorrow,

and it’s dusty,

so dusty in here.


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