Glorious Particles in the Atmosphere Aflame

My dog loves being airborne.She leaps over the coffee table onto the couch.Never will we be sealed in the narcropolis again.Leaps when she infers a biscuit.A walk. A piece of crystal broken offfrom the original idea of light.Then she gets introspective and lies on the rug.We’re surrounded by books and in each a poetholds the sun in some sort of basketthen his or her skull starts to glow.One more minaret to the mind.When my dog misses her puppies,she gets the walrus from the toy boxand finishes ripping its white fluffy guts out.Look, she says, Snow. Even my dogis more creative than mealthough I make a wicked margarita.The secret is capsicum.The secret is drinking from a test tube.The secret is ruined dreams.Something’s just exploded in outer spacebut don’t worry, by the time it reaches uswe’ll long be burst from these cocoons.