my mind is a barking dog
named Denzel by a woman
that has never cooked in her
life but always has something
to say about the stew to tomato
paste ratio it’s always too much paste
never enough stew, but alas, she always
finishes the too much tomato paste stew
only leaves a sucked-clean bone for
Denzel is digging a hole in my medulla
oblongata system pulls out two snakes
one digs their fangs into his throat
the other spits venom into his spine
Denzel spins in slow motion to the
song of the enchanted sea yodelling
German shepherd in the valley
of my pituitary foaming at the mouth
before you fall, you gaze at the gramophone
horn in the soil that played the writhing
snake song that stopped your beating
heart. In the morning, a wheelbarrow scoops
you up the woman that named you eats cocoa
puffs with hot frothed milk, she says she never liked
that dog always pissing and jumping everywhere