the dog and the sandman

trE

the dog is dead
to the world.
this kind of sleep
is what I used to have
before the change,
before the crush.

there’s too much worry
in my bones – too much
brokenness. I am
whole-body ache in
need of a salve that’s evergreen.
who will deliver?

Wednesday is just
another day that my
body confuses with
Thursday, and the mind
battles with it – warring
with an enemy who
has an army of an
undisclosed amount.

I am stuck in the middle.
the dog is still dead
to the world.
she didn’t raise her head
or bat an eye.
the sandman who visits
her is clearly not the
one who will beat down
my door tonight.

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