A Longing for Utility

Been nine days
since the end of the year
for sweetness and dogs
but

I'm not done talking about
dogs,
the sweetness,
maybe.

This house is overflowing
the stink of dogs
is pushing me out.
We need fire

to purge the air
charcoal
to settle into
the fabrics.

I wish we had a real
fireplace, not this gas
one. I wish I had
wood to chop.

I'm good at it and I know
which woods
are good for different things
which woods

burn slowly
which woods burn quickly.
What to put on
in the morning

to heat the house rapidly.
What
to put on at night
to burn so slowly

in your sleep.
So

Chris

can see that I know about something.

Can see I have utility.

Can see I have utility

in this world where
nothing much happens.
In this house where
nothing much is said.

When we limit where
the new dog
can go, when
we give her

boundaries, she
behaves, somewhat
like
what is expected.

When we let her
be free.
When we grant her
her freedom,

she pisses everywhere
she can,
she destroys
things,

and spreads
the garbage
all over
the house.

Sometimes we talk
with too much insistence
about things
that have no real importance.

Sometimes we pursue
our point,
to the point
of one another's neck.

Sometimes the house
fills with ephemera and excrement
until there is no room
for any of us. Like the

dogs,

lately, I'm happiest when the front door swings wide open

and we all run out into the morning's winter vacuum, our

howls flying away from us

until they disappear completely.

11/16/05