minding what's pressed
from one wet flank to another.
And you with no dogs.
If you want their blood's attention
you are going to have to do better
you are going to have to realize
that they are not that sort of animal
that they only note the cough and cry
that circles like prairie smoke
and leaves no worldly exit.
They will note you
and the pitch fire that drips
from your outstretched hands
the sounds you make
as it raises blisters
along the seams
of your wrists
They will note you
running downhill with the wind,
the storm and the mackerel that leads it,
burning out your star for the unfired
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