LUKE & CO.

1.

Shriek of brakes spiked

with your spirit splits the evening suddenly

this is it   everything leaks   we draw heavy

outlines trying to keep stone stone

boot boot shovel shovel

shovel this raw mouth into the earth

and feed you to the meadow.




2.

Each time he settled on his blue-black sofa Luke

went out, invisible except for small white patches

on his chest, left forepaw, and the tiny paintbrush

tufts on his tail and prick-sack, winking when he

wagged or recomposed his curl:

milkweed

growing on this wild unspecial

patch of ground

let your silk slip

gently   to the wind.




3.

A dog on his sofa, a dog

underground, a committee of dogs which

circulates beyond the bounds of decency

sniffing crotches

raiding garbage

stealing from the butcher

begging from the banker

befriending nasty Mrs. Kuhn, convincing folk

that every act is sexual and droll.

                           Raggedly

they range the meadow,

alternate hosts for all our seminal ideas

(soft sell, the revolving

door, the interminable

joke) tucked in snug cocoons behind their wise

unknowing eyes:

underground

they spread contagiously, freelancing dreamlife to

dreamlife through networks of long rambling after-

dinner anecdotes   Mr Glover had an old blind

terrier could fetch a ball by listening to it hit

and roll, I don’t know, could be he smelt it in

the air   sure well Luke followed his nose the

way Ezekiel followed God, he’d vacuum up your

trail like you had fishline paying out your arse

you’d double back it didn’t matter he would find

you up a tree   thing is, like they only partly

live in this dimension since they smell and hear

things that do not exist for us so on their level

it’s like synesthesia is common sense   well, you

know Alice Dragland had such ears folks said her

mother was part fruit bat she would practise

flying when the family was asleep and when she

swam (for miles) behind the boat she mostly sailed

and then of course there’s breakthroughs

                                   as when Luke

discovered down-filled pillows and extrapolated,

grazing the surface of soft

improbable objects with exquisite

fish-bites, chien stupide, chien

brillant, trying to tease feathers

from the cat the sofa and at least one

English professor of each rank and gender,

chien comme une tasse de la nuit, he wouldn’t

let himself become embossed with discipline

but played it like a melody

(Perdido Blues) from which he improvised in long

irregular loops

exits

entries. Letting him out in out to chase a

car bike jogger snowplow (caught, tossed in an

otter’s arc of snow) rabbit motorcycle train the wind

whose speed

was with him even in repose a space

left in his dogginess for metamorphosis and style

where once

right here in this kitchen, Luke ate

three-fifths of Hemingway’s For Whom

the Bell Tolls, fell asleep on his sofa

wrapped in the perfect fur sleeping bag of himself.