I dreamt about you last night old bitch
I was skipping work almost enough
to almost feel guilty then later
or was it before I was on
vacation and knew I didn’t
deserve any of it and as I
wrote to myself the best poems are still
to come each word spread to a red-black
blob maybe there was a hair between
my golden tines I know you had your
reasons I had mine and for a while
we were the villains in each other’s
story but what does it matter now
you’re dust and I’m the next best thing
other animals 