SALT

My skin is crawling and the hairs on my arms are standing up
reaching towards a distant grey sky.
Massive white flowers oppress the stems they grow from
and suffocate everyone else.
My days are twelve consecutive sneezes
that push me backwards
and before me, the worst dog in the world is getting his belly scratched.

I spent the day trying to skip round rocks on rough water
digging holes under fences that have gates
sending letters without postage.
It’s not depressing, it’s exhausting
and my mind has strayed so far from my head I should just find a new one.

Little does anyone know
somewhere in the unintelligible mess I have a collection of people I love
and a box full of guilt
because all I can do is toss a lasso around their stupid little bodies and try to pull them in
while they scratch that mangy fucking dog.