Cold Dogs

It’s hard to think of love beneath a wrecking ball,

but when the ball is dropped that’s all that’s left.

Telling the truth is like pulling burrs out of a dog’s fur;

If you shave the dog, the problem becomes the end of a circle—solved as it occurs.

The Pied Piper gets a bad rap, but I’d rather take a leap

than play a game of tag where everyone is IT.

Playing the part of a cruel clown is tiring;

at least mimes know the box they’re in is of their own conception.

How long can we play capture-the-flag in heaven,

vying for the other team’s white standard?

children too short to see where the world ends,

scared of falling in a dream, scared of losing in a game.

Scared the wrecking ball will break our back,

when a real spine would turn it into fairy dust.

I’ll meet you in the field;

the one beneath our feet, past the horizon;

the one covered in fallen snow.

Knit your dog a coat, and let’s go for a walk.

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