Poetry Wednesday

The Jackal

The starving dog comes

Irregularly,
but always, she appears

at the delta end of this dead-end street, on
the last of the attic stairs

The jackal

who swallows universes
and chokes on the dust motes
in those vacuum spaces
of devouring, I

wish she would bite down on this,
would
show me the strength of her long jaw, but
she stands still with quick eyes and

I overbalance, I pitch and whine, I

cannot reconcile every explosion
with this welling.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

Untitled

by J. Bradley

I wanted to write “stay”
on your sides, surround
your bed with oceans
of salt. I hope he folds you
into a fox, loves you
like a splintered arrow,
brandishes the kill
of your lips. May the bouquet
of your hips wither.
May the wolves
forget your name.