The First Floor

I have a mask in my closet
And I have a dog
I have a whining in my ear
And it's not the dog. 
I want to bring you to the shore
Walk a while without speaking
Slip your hands in my pockets
And sway until we erode. 
When the whining starts to spit I sprint to the closet
Slip on the mask
Give a swift kick and split to the bathroom
Rip off and resist
My face is a void of mirror magnetism
I come back warped and regretful
A convenient mix
I have a dog in my house
And he doesn't recognize me.
My heart aches with an imitated naïveté
I get him a bowl of water
And scratch behind his ears
An airplane drones
The kitchen clock ticks
I have a mask in my mirror
And a dog in my fridge
I want to slip your hands into my pockets
And sway until we erode.

Date

To fantasize is only human
The term is often misused
I fantasize about our children's graves
Spattered in leaf shade, waiting in aching lines to meet us
We have not just buried our own.
The concept should be familiar enough
I slaughter a million when I salt my food
You'd kill so many if you kissed my neck
The funereal future never was ours to bloodstain
The Germans took our chance, I think
Or maybe it was the waiter
It's deterministic, I know
I've been told it's too abstract for a creed
I can only bring myself to blame the logarithm
Mistakes make people,
And there are no mistakes
I've never been more sure.