body by sofia

sunshine today and body by sofia. old king charles spaniel pedigree. a hefty gal with heavy action on the shaggy tail wag and plenty of bark. only bites in service to ye olde belly at mealtime. she comes up to our harley without any fear of the pipes. likely dampened by the hardness of hearing. eye level where tire meets spoke. daddy calling out with care at the tip of the cane  #katyamills

death of an inconsequential man

blood surging through his veins

disseminating after a decade of lifeless

sedentaryanism the inconsequential man 

with a battle cry hurled himself out his 4 story window 

cradling his miniature labrador 

who as luck would have it

had already passed

#katyamills

knock down drag

you were workin several shifts 

holding it down. i was lifted hopin

this could hold up. you were

switchin gears then i tried 

you and we had a knock down

drag out. the dogs left howling

in the yard. a playful sun hid 

behind a cloud. then set the 

sky on fire. i. you.

we all come down

#katyamills

simpatico

I got out of simpatico when I began to speak the plain truths. It was useless trying to be liked all your life long. No one who liked you would make it to your funeral, anyway, due to the inconvenience. Find a way to be helpful and get out of yourself. You don’t have to like yourself, either, I discovered. Self-deprecation was less static and much more fun. There was a dog bit me while I was running up over the rails to the river, yesterday. A little brown Pekingnese with a seething growl rolled up on me and bit my ankle at the joint. I coulda started yelling at the river rats who owned it, about a leash and tags and sorta legalese. But I already was detested enough by their dog. I checked for blood, and there was none. So I kept on running and started thinking how long it had been since I got bit by a dog. Maybe twenty years or more? About time.

chalk it off

chalk it off as existential slowburn -ii

… i dont know how to write this. i want to think before i write, but i cannot. i want to treat this
with the attention it requires. the gravity it inspires. the sensitivity it needs. i am even now
holding back from trying to rush to disagree with you on some of your points you made,
because i do feel differently, yes, and thats okay, yes. however, i cannot disagree with your
overall vision. because this is also what i see. atleast i think our visions of us are pretty
much alike. it doesnt matter if they are or they aren’t, though. i truly believe that.

god i feel like im in church all of a sudden. because my spirit is aching. i feel my spirit through
my body in that powerful way like i did on the best sundays in the earliest 1980s, when my family
was a young family, the 4 of us were tight, we had a big old queene anne victorian to tear around
in, a big old lawn wrapping around her, and a little peke-a-poo dog named buttons. its fur was like
the worst case of jerry curls when she was just a pup. my moms radiant joyfulness at having
all of us together singing hymns on sunday, well, it just filled us up, also. but my dad wasnt
really into it. so the kids werent either. so looking back its an aching kind of spirit i felt …