A Hungry Dog

When nothing comes,

the pantry bare,

fragments

with no strings attached

for me to snag,

tie

and tame.

 

I take up pen,

and tattered notebook,

the feel of them,

a comfort first,

then a door,

to the cellar hold,

where I always find,

at the very least,

a morsel,

and,

sometimes,

a hungry dog.

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