i bite the
chain about my ankle
i rattle
the bars
i sniff at
the curb here and here
and here by
the rusty old mailbox
i howl at
the moon, the stars, the clouds
i walk
backwards stepping into
my own snow
tracks
i scratch
at the painted backdrop on the stage
i sing the
screeching soprano part
in the
italian operetta
i tear my
clothes and rub ashes into my hair
though i
wash it out again moments later
i run after
motorbikes and snap
at their
tires
i stare at
the watchers on the other side of
the fence
and wait
and hope for them
to put
their fingers through the links
(Originally appeared in Requiem
Magazine)
