cats and dogs

A long time ago…in a galaxy far far away…

Wait,that’s not the right beginning…at least this time,anyway. 

 We adopted a dog.  A canine. A ferocious beast.  

 A beagle mix. Simon. 

I was nervous but only in the beginning. Now it’s day three or five and I am good. 

But it’s because  I’ve always been a cat person. And cats are different than dogs. Mostly,because if you have a dog. You are a “dog owner.” If you have a cat…somewhere out in the animal kingdom…your cat is saying; “Well,I just got a person.It took me a few months…but I decided to commit.” 

You don’t own a cat… The cat does whatever it wants. You get affection and attention on its terms. Not yours. You don’t train a cat. The cat trains you. You put food out-maybe it eats it.It depends on what mood it’s in. 

But a dog. 

A dog is completely different. A dog is like a child. You have to take it out. You have to train it. You have to be consistent. A dog is like family.You have a foster family,you have to be approved. You have to spay and neuter. 


Seriously. I never realized how many animals go into these shelters. It’s ridiculous. Some have almost a thousand a month. Spay and neuter your pets.And if you don’t have a pet but want one? adopt.

Simon is great. He takes his baths.Then digs up cat poop,takes some more baths.Runs himself to death. Sleeps on the sofa and in the bed. I tried to be more firm on the bed thing. But …. 

He doesn’t beg for anything. and he’s so smart. I couldn’t say no. 

So yeah. We have a dog. Simon. 

He sits. He understands “No” well,almost. He is just really fond of  L’s scrunchies and shoes….

The fountain 


Image source  

until the stars burn out 

The earth freezes 

In its motion 

The rivers run dry 

The mountains 

Level into the sea…

Like so many coffee cups 

In the floorboard …

I love 

I love 

I love,her.

And when it all ends

I will start again.

New York #7

  Photo origin (unknown) 

The mop splashes across the blood. Mr Sing, slowly moves it around in circular motions left to right. Does this happen often, I ask. Oh yes, he pauses for just a moment…picking something off of the floor. Ah! the finger!. He presents it to me on a foam tray, with a grin. Maybe Allen used to be a ten but he’s just a nine and three quarters,today. 

He continues mopping while talking he’s a good one…I’ve always enjoyed just hanging out and listening to him tell his stories about working with people. His family started the business in the 30’s so he never runs out of them.

Butchers are always cutting off limbs.But one time,I had a customer just fall out in the floor reaching for eggs. Just filleted her leg open on a basket. Blood was everywhere. Asked her if she was on any medicine…she said. ‘Oh no! no! Just blood thinner!’ I had to wrap it myself until the ambulance got here. The floor is clean. You wouldn’t know there was a finger or blood or a screaming Allen fifteen minutes ago.Kicking a trash can in the back of the store…holding his hand between his legs. I tried to get Allen out here – Mister Sing continues – but he took one look at all that blood and walked outside until she was gone.

Mister Sing hands me a brown bag over the counter. Here’s your ground chuck,and fingerless at that! He says laughing and shaking his head. I put some bbq in there also…trust me…(he spreads his hands for emphasis) you’re going to want in on that…goes on everything…put it on a salad…and it turns into meat. Ho-Hey! Have you told your sister you’re back yet?

I turn back to him and smile. Not just yet, Mister Miyagi. But don’t worry.I’ve got this. 

Don’t hide away in that apartment,Josh!

I back against the door and raise the bag.  I’m good! thanks for tha meats! 

wild,wild horses 

(Photo origin unknown)

wild,wild horses,couldn’t drag me away ” – The Rolling Stones 

When it’s 1 am 

Somewhere between 

a hospital bed 

And a dark,darker than dark 

I’ll be by your side

 laying down beside you …


Wild,wild horses,Couldn’t drag me away 

Maybe this is…

Enough to fill the page 

New York #4

It’s said
Always want one thing
We want to be heard
We want to be seen
We want to be understood

we say we feel things
We see things differently
Things coming together
Just to come apart
Like entropy
The only difference
Between us
And everyone else
Is that we not only see it
We feel it ….
And we are jaded
Sometimes before it even

A stair case
A closed door
Snow coming through the window
Paint chipping on the walls
You see it all
But you’re outside
Standing with
Sara telling you to go
Take a chance on
Even after your fight
Your drop down drag out

God Laura …
Her blonde hair
Pulled back
Her hoodies
And loose clothes
Her violent schedule
Working with
Local theaters
And dance studios
And writing her
You could see the
Scars along the inside
Of her arms …
The first time we slept
She was nervous
It was like a map for me …
Pieces of doors and windows
That only she could open
If she wanted to
Tell the stories
Behind them

But the staircase
And that door
My heart didn’t feel right
There was an echo to its beat
As I walked in
The fan (spinning lazily with a slant)
The heater (burning)
I could hear the shower
On the other side of the door
I opened it…

Doors like boxes
And safes
Hide things
But it’s really just a psychological
Thing because we have the ability
To look inside them
there are always secrets
There will always be secrets
Your father wasn’t the guy
You thought he was
Your wife is a lesbian
Your boss is actually into
Hard core porn
And Herion ….
Secrets are little rooms
That we have a hard time
But when it opens
It’s open
And all you can do
Is read it
Even though
It sometimes
More often than not
Is like the aftermath of a storm …

the shower (steam and water hissing)
The mirror (fogged over)
The curtain (torn from its hangers)
And Laura …
on the floor (facedown)
Trapped between the toilet and the sink
She’d suffocated from a seizure ….
No one there to help

It’s been said that artist
Always want one thing …
Sometimes all you have is
The need to be seen
I guess that’s what we have
In common
That need …
Artist just say it louder
We feel it
Maybe or
Maybe we keep it in….
like Laura
Who never told me about
Her epilepsy
It’s just a room
Waiting on the
Courage it takes
You to open it
With files and folders
we foolishly think only
We can read
but it’s there

It’s not a door
It’s our lives
It’s a window
And everyone is looking

image origin