Skies Command the Ego Dogs
by Pat A Physics
At night, the machine sleeps insect sleep with the crushed tablet
in its water tube attachments. You dream about it, the solvent,
and parts of the machine that are inaccesible. Your life dents
back the on going secret gulf. It arrives under a carpet, invisible.
We danced on the carpet for days. You taught me every dance.
It’s late, in the wee hours, and the machines dance very slowly.
Once, I took a look behind the vanity plate to see what was there.
That is where I found you. You had a different name and wouldn’t
talk to me. We took walks up a great hill when it was still daytime.
At the top of the hill, we stopped and stared out at the icy sky.
The sky is made of ice, I think, was what you said to me. I liked it.
You told me that the clouds were steam from the ice. You shook.
I offered that we should share my coat. You refused with a gesture.
We left the hill and saw a rabid dog chewing on a rock. It made
terrible sounds like a broken machine. We stood looking at the dog
hurting itself and you sung soft words to the dog to try and coax him
over to us. It worked and we drove him into town. He joined
a large family and we see him on walks. He still loves rocks and
makes that god-awful noise. I wish that dog would just shut up!