In The Clear

anine exhales my steam faced spit bath.
tippy toed. noses nippy cold touch.
i'm looking up through gnarling gashers through drooley jowls peering into my peer.
canine ate seven sick five year olds.
canine ate seven sick five year olds.
baretoothed brawls lost.
what they unmindedly kick.
we shrug and barely bearhug.
grapple down to the ground.
it's the same ground grounding us.
the same ground grounding those that ground us.
a b c d e f g h i j k lost.
time to move on they say.
"i'm sorry, but you gotta go."
i'm hoping once i'm a big kid and i look down to the ground it'll seem further away.
canine ate seven sick five year olds. canine ate seven sick five year olds