Orphans - Poem
Daniel DalyThe guardian is asleep dogging the lacy upstairs rooms with his heavy, canine presence. His teeth drip like knives. We have been running the stairs, the closets and the storage areas, diving on dust in the basement accumulations of furniture, until we slip like fish into a tank of water into that sleep, his sleep where dreams proved cloudy, rainy-day, misted dreams until one clears like tap water let stand. We see ourselves plastered in the back of the van to ice cream, our eyes roiling our hair poking up straight, our mouths bleeding on the way with vanilla to nowhere north in particular.
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