Dog Tired

The dog is sick in the living room.  You are counting down the minutesuntil your brain stops thinking -- lyingin bed like you’re made of morethan moments. Time is a measurement of man mademiniman-madeness. The spine of a fragilewoman stuck in the fetal position. The backhanded palm print on pristine skin. The crackling of knees bending for prayer.  You’ve made it a habit of living in climates where only nature can survive. The harshness of truths shuts downMain street like it executes an ecosystem. There are days the high temperaturedoes not creep into positive digits. You willdie if you leave the house as god intended,in your bare skin.  “We are broken,” he says, laughing. The riseand fall of his chest like a tidal wave. You are a luxury yacht capsized so far off coastno one is aware you need saving. He is the communications officer ignoring everyS.O.S crossing his desk. You, are the stringof oceanic lights playing hide and seek with the fog.  The dog is coughing -- the couch lacquered with thickness of breath that cannot be cut.  In your sleep you dream of rain. Torrential downpours that drain the heavens. Bugs so biglimbs fall off with a single bite. Tropical paradise where all you wear is your birthday suit while you dance beside lighthouses that sway in the wind.  This ain’t no party, though. The thunder in your head is the dog heaving. You don’t get up to save her. You know it’s impossible for dogs to actually choke.                          Human’s are not                          the most evolved mammals                          on Earth. We just learned how                          to take, and walk like we own.  You feel him in iceberg shadows. The painful inching across barefloors past midnight. You reach out like his breath isn’t frozen. Like your heatcombined would be enough to save your skin. He is the last minute bell. The untied lace. The mannequin reaching for the window. The make believe power of lost prayer.  You know better than mostthat no one can save you but your own self.  The clock ticks awaythe hours of silence like the solacesunlight finds in cathedral ceilings.The windows are quiet in their stains. The house sleeps without him.The dog comes to bed.