dog

the four legs i run on are not enough.
i want to be a centipede. i want to
crawl on the ceiling. you walk me 
out into the yard & put me down.
a bullet or a beetle. there are bowls
of my blood boiling in the sun.
collar jingle as i ran through god traps. 
to be a dog is to eat the words
as they come out of your mouth. 
is to look your capture in the eyes 
& say, "thank you, let us be loyal."
yes, let us be soldiers with nothing but stones.
i used to pray. i used to eat cherries.
i used to have a trunk to fit all my teeth in.
now, i get all my lighters from the sidewalk.
i tell myself it is more natural this way.
brunch is full of angels. i sit
beneath the table & count their toes.
eighteen on each limb. you have two choices
in the end. you can either sleep until you are moss
or bark until you split in half. become
two beings. a dog & a bird. the bird 
dies almost instantly. the dog goes
to hunt. remembers being a wolf.
remembers the haunting of the mountain top
& how, in the deepest veins
of the forest, the trees will part for you.
how you will become a multiple. a joint
in the forest's leg. this is what i dream of
& yet there are light bulbs in my throat.
why is the castle a place to go
& not a place to leave? there is gravity
in their tongues. they say, "get down from there."
i am standing on the roof, panting.