my dog is trying to write a novel without my help. 

i hear her a night 
openning my computer & walking back & forth 
across the keys. the humidity is returning
with its thick fingers. i find dew
in my own hair as if i were a field.
a daffodil sprouts from my chest
like a new limb. should i cut it off
or would i get blood all over?
someone is going to be president soon 
& i am scared of all the history 
we're making. i used to want to
write in a vote for president. i might
write something like "mickey mouse"
or my brother's name or "satan."
a pencil falls from the sky
& tells me to sign my soul away.
i do it because i'm bored.
i wish i was a vampire this morning 
so i could pretend to sleep longer
& so that my blood itself 
would keep me cool. an air conditioner
is waiting for all of us in heaven.
i take my shirt off & lay in a bed
with no blankets. they say
the sun is cooling. i start to wonder
what would happen if it went out.
how many of us would survive.
certainly not me. what would we do 
on a dark cold planet?
a flashlight is a kind of promise.
i put the batteries under my tongue
to keep me running. lately my dog's writing
is better than my own. her novel follows
a young girl who is slowly turning into 
a dog. i tell her to keep writing
every single day. my dog is
determined. when she wins
the pulitzer she won't need me 
anymore & she will write june 
out of its sticky swelter.
a tent blooms in the yard
& i crawl inside. it's huge in there.
a circus of tigers performs.
one bites the daffodil off my chest
& the amount of blood reminds me
of one period i had that went on
for almost a month. blood reproduces
like rabbits. rabbits are writing
sonnets these days. they are
encroaching on my turf. then again,
the more sonnets the better. i eat grass
& it doesn't taste green anymore
so i add salt & ask my dog to read me
her latest chapter.