If you begin to run with men, don’t forget spider webs.
Don’t forget memory. Carry a golden anklet tight
around your wrist. When you battle atop skyscrapers,
remember your promises. Remember your caretaker.
Cross your eyes and the road appears paved with
crocodiles. Use my skull as a stepping stone and keep
the solitude close to your chest. Keep the curtain drawn
when you leave your head. Breathe without my lungs
so you can watch burdens dissappear. When you plunder
my charity, celebrate regifting. Celebrate my grave; for once,
I will not change.
Stan Wallden wishes he were a dog. He writes poetry and works with at risk youth in the Pacific Northwest. You can find further work and dog lamentations @SlipperyBassett.