THINGS AS THEY ARE WHEN THEY TAKE YOU

It is the now that is reordered. All the markers gone. Thunder

on the window ledge. Your heart a rattle of rocks and

the world ends every day. You would like to get closer to

what-it-is. The what-you-just-by-moments-missed when

you were otherwise, abstractly, occupied. The what-bodies-

rolled-by-you, the what-fell-from-the-goddamned-sky. You

would like the dogs to understand-but they're otherwise, not

so abstractly, occupied. They want bones and beef: They want

to go outside, pee, take a big dump near the marigolds. They

want that now. And the black one would like his muzzle

stroked. You'd like some god to let the ladder down, you'd

like to understand a few things as they are when they take you.