James Walton #126 woof woof woof

at 3am dogs bark

for the bone of moon

words spinning

jacks out of the boxes

that coil beneath the bony lid

of the sleepless too

reach out

you can touch them

some are untied knots

daisy chains of Mondays

so wide that bitter swell

the surprising taste

of second street laneways

kitchens light awake

but no doors open

to the moth of sentence

a batter of intrusion

the slipped anchor scrapes

there was a dancing pony

one made of naphthalene

a cajole of wakefulness

one last wear

a lover’s parting gift

the last cold night of Spring