Nance Van Winckel
Give It a Rest
Hot breath blasting back at the cold,
he secretes the worst of what goes in
and in. Heel, Sparky. His leash yanks
at our through-line. He won't go near
but forces a quick veer around Point
Hope. Because I'm nuts to aim us
there. Same old. Same old time-stirred
molecules. My news that's not
so new. Sparky's tug. The black lie
his white teeth bite through:
I never had no dog.




