Here’s another new poem in progress.
Having done a bit of dog-sitting lately, I was scanning radio channels while driving home from a summer hockey league game the other night and stumbled upon some kind of discussion around the theories of how dogs experience their realities.
it’s been suggested our understandings of the
present, of what that means or is, differ; are two
buried sets: disparate treasure troves secreted
deep in our respective skulls’ bone-yards.
our human timing all finite and contingent, and
yours simply elastic; almost unconcerned.
think smell rather than sight: its self-same
bleeding both before and, yes, after. omen and
denouement all at once, if at once was a thing.
that rich allowance. and this must explain
how you love, how you live, unconditional: that
near-constant licking, the thick fart, the near-
crocodiled yawn. that sigh that empties your
small, small frame and fills the room all at once.
and this surely explains how i am left only with
memory’s specious, two-footed argument; with
words and their iambic trying, while you: you
are still doggedly swimming in the thick midst of
it all, unconsciously paddling through some kind
of unending wet-dream of now, and of now, and