That taught line,
pulling the neck,
saves the brute from
flinging himself,
headlong,
into a fracas,
into traffic,
into the ass of another dog
obediantly trotting along,
blissfully unaware
that too much freedom
hurts almost as much
as none at all.
There are some things so destructive they cannot be stopped. So the end comes... soft, sweet eventual. Until then, I am here, in the night, in a corner, waiting. If you join me, I won't bite until told.
I know where I'll be getting off.
I wonder if you know too?
Speaking with a woman on the phone, he would begin to imagine, in her voice, the way she smelled: the vanilla scent of Oki Hirashimo, the fade of mothballs and lemons from the old woman with the last name Zuro. A desperately hazy image blossomed and sharpened as his nostrils tasted the phantom scents.
It isn't so much that one cannot erase,
but that when one puts rubber to paper,
to turn a phrase,
the paper fights back.
