Monday, November 19, 2012

The Dogs of Hunters








I am through falling in love with every girl I see
I have decided, sitting here in one of those megalithic bookstores
Drinking bitter coffee, reading Dora Malech
Take this raven haired girl for instance 
Normally, the way she is wearing her dress
The way she has absentmindedly forgotten
To cover her caramel colored freckles with
Make-up this morning would have meant
All butterflies and strange twinges
But not anymore
And the way she slips out of her shoes 
As soon as she sits 
Normally I would have thought about that 
For the rest of the day
But not today, today I am no longer noticing
Things like the way she slowly flips through her magazine 
Even though she’s already staring far off beyond it
Or the way her expression seems to say she’s been chased 
Night after night through black forests
By the needle-teethed dogs of hunters
Narrowly escaping across roaring rivers
And that in open meadows, 
On windswept steppes
She has howled out her hurt 
At a bone-colored moon
Her fur silvered by the starlight
If only in her, sigh…
Sweat-drenched dreams


2 comments:

  1. Da-dang! Mark! You need to send this to somewhere to print! Not kidding. Just do it. So good.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you soooo much Emily. That means a ton coming from you. Honest Abe.

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