charcoal artist 

the dog's vision is contagious.
soon i am only seeing grey world
& it is better that way. once, in college
a charcoal artist came into
my bedroom & sketched me
without any bones. i don't remember
if he was a friend or a stranger.
i was popular on my hall because i had
an air conditioner. i get a clothesline
& hang up my skin. there is 
a flyer in our town for a missing dog.
these always activate my savior complex.
i drive around for hours looking,
as if i might be the one to find the creature.
i get the whole montage going in my head.
finding the animal. coaxing him from
behind a bush. driving him to his owner.
the praise. who doesn't just
want to be praised? i sometimes find
a missing sign with my face on it.
i tear them down & eat them whole.
upstairs we have a set of charcoals. 
sometimes i will take a piece out & draw
my grief. great spirals & a burning bush. 
my lover once painted my legs in full color.
all the purples & reds & yellows. bruises
& scrapes. i wanted to see them in charcoal. 
i too am the offspring of fires. the ships
that crashed & the parchment animals 
going skinless in the dark. there are lost dogs 
standing on the roof one morning.
i tell them to wait until i can find someone
to help. there is no one to help. in a town
of mailboxes & portraits there is 
no one to help. i sketch the dog from
the missing sign. the rain comes. turns
paper into pulp. washes out the image
until there is only black & white & blur.