dog tales of 1846

*A poem by Colin McKay (C) and Andrew Wegmann (A)
Check out Andrew's maundering:
mysonthefish.blogspot.com

C:
i gained
quite a bit of weight
during my time
in a wheelchair

spinning through the mall
via fixed rotations
like the eel black ribbons
of VHS tapes

A:
I am asleep.
In my dreams the cronies come,
To machete my body.
To the dogs they run,
With Corporals and Sergeants.
Allow me to dither,
Upon unwanted requests,
For the souls of my forefathers
Aligned perfectly, so perfectly.

C:
perfectly perfect
a bird in space

you are a glittering christmas sweatshirt
with used teabag eyes
stringing your sentences on and on
like some mendicant veteran
mirrors in his pockets

if youre willing to get up early
i'll take you fishing some weekend
at dawn
and show you those
scintillating metal creatures
moving beneath the latex surface
like the sparkle of fiberglass in my chewing tobacco

because there is no god
when you are hungover
and you know this

let some coincidence
prove otherwise
when you are drinking again