Pet Politics

guard my bed
while the rain turns the ditches to mirrors.
buy a vase of carnations
from central ohio where the looking machine can't hear us.
deep in the night we dream of positions
there's a line for the phone in the hall
and in the cold places where spanish is spoken,
most wars end in the fall.
you never know when your pet will go.
pet politics

still wearing last night's mascara
now that her pet was gone for sure.
she was shivering so hard,
it looked like there were two of her.
i can see through the sleeve on her blouse
the mute plans of her architect lover.
a tattoo of a boarded up house,
an ink door that belonged to another.
when the rain hits you, it hits you slow.
stitch after stitch.
stitch after stitch.

adam was not the first man,
though the bible tells us so.
there was one created before him
whose name we do not know.
he also lived in the garden,
but he had no mouth or eyes.
one day adam came to kill him
and he died beneath these skies.
i find it so amazing how
i go where i'm lead.
i go where i'm lead.
i go where i'm lead.
i go where i'm lead.

i suspect we could be losing now.
please guard my bed.
please guard my bed.