11-6-16

Fasten each upon the lapel.

The collar, 

laden,

choking,

fits its place.

Who are we but shape-shifters

blinking

in and out

of cognizant reality?

The picture is poignant:

an ode 

to dogs with no teeth. 

Long distance

lost

distance

and the broken bridge

can't burn,

can't fold

into red muddy water

the same way

a match

can't light itself.

---

Piecemeal.

Take it bit by bit.

Rung by rung.

Up and up. 

Fake it, the dismal march.

Right, left, right.