The head slumps,
the lip quivers,
and the heart
hangs low
like a dial tone.

There is an unflinching loneliness
that paws the backdoor by sunset
to chew savagely slow on our night
and spit it out by daylight
upon the waiting,
unblemished landscape of tomorrow.
We must mush through
these strewn bits of broken
commitments; drooled over
waist high and thick by the hot
breathe of trespassers.
We have no idea what we are
but it feels familiar.
We’d known this mile
long ago,
in some other form,
some other time.
We’d known this hour
and we wonder why
we still walk it.
What on earth will we find
that hasn’t already been
chewed on and torn to bits
by some unholy greed
to feed and possess?

Dead dogs don’t howl,
but I do.
And no matter
how many nights I paw
the backdoor,
nobody is home and
nobody is coming.
Somewhere in the distance,
I hear keys clattering.
I get my hopes up
only long enough
to hear a distant door open
and close; never mine.
Never the same I paw,
howling in the night,
longing for the mercy
of morning to arrive.

I wait in the night
for my head to rise,
a lip to bite
another heart
to meet mine,
beat for beat.

Dead dogs don’t howl.
But I do.
Do you?

written on 03/29/2016 by: Matt Kane