Edges butter-warm, margarine chanting a hex.

Every circle it draws on the air is a signature.

The window is an eye that forgot it can blink and simply watches me watching.

I saw it bury a shoelace and grow a street.

I saw it bless a teacup until it became gravity.

I saw it sneeze and seven boats disappeared.

I AM DOG

Sprawling like a disease.

One with myself within myself.

Does it want me to belong?

Fat, grubby hands.

Another day without relenting stories.

Grief for my freedom.

Some variations of tongues and meats.