"Dog the Man a Star" by Tyler Flynn Dorholt

Page 1

Scantily Clad Press, 2009

I. I am younger


& this appears to be the bridge I’ve been waiting for: not a sound but things on by

to begin

or the cell in the blood in the arm that is moving

I structure from wet wristhairs a way for seeing about the girl she on different hours she on splitting my grains in the cut up the mow

this is the city I came unprepared for not to mention cars crashing this aged loin

the morning

sirens kept undetected


from its offals

this dock we canoed ourselves from haunts me in rickety spoils the paddle is a theory I’ve been trying to explain to you


how we want our whole thought to be in one vocal tilt— when a strawberry is picked it is palmed from the bottom

redness is checked

a good glooming

& no bruises are allowed—such is my face pinched in pain

II. Fire in a horse’s eye

pigs scoot the bin

I am loss of blood I am

charcoals resuming after the cook out: inside: sometimes you have to come inside for the idea


stretching spine-sized trolley out from the alcoholic petting of our cats

the best friend will bring up a fort

that sky took us inside its walls

better off here better wondering where the lines need


thump from texture that cranking moonface

a mythic

for eyes’


sit down

our branches


we the root cramped

in woman: I wander all sorts of instruments through talk

tense up in locality

go hometown

go old comfort of wind

when we were school we were one tank full


talk longingly

three miles over for the party

III. Coming inside

making two moves toward you

that ring finger has a tan line I knew you’d off and married something in between me & the remembrance of us swinging floorboards

hurtle me out a balcony for scriptures

we reach snow here

boot search

we glow up a hillside with packs saddled

& in the unencumbered nutrition lose pyramids which lung will come out of the particles a lust forgets? There is no end not a manner of backup instruments just all this non-lyrical suffrage Please

I need another job I’ve loaned out my veins

I am offshore unaccounted for Back break

your city has no knowledge of the flesh consider the click of bones

the way your tendons exonerate the shortage of place I am misplaced & cabin-candled

IV. This long shot at the full forest

the mileage is an obsessive doubt where we

wanted our fondlings why a relationship makes truth undesirous put a rock on this only now has not a land to step its entrance the cracks

the dock we set out from

the cracks &

my dog will reach the bend

holler back in gaze

my dog is paws only on the idea

bringing the horn section in

of this survival

startling the commonplace rows

adding one cocktail to that listening look that form of an upside down triangle low off your neck I follow to the place that gave our mother’s milk a meaning they were once saying we need to make a valve externalize they had after me for testing outside a score this netting suggests a nap with many mosquito bites falling face into the cantos

out last night a bird offered me a sill: putting windows all over our going ahead the smartest lobe is brain below is harbor romp

V. Somehow I managed to use a form of self-gratification in the orchard & a horse Approached it was night-high

pine-warm when the moon cribbed my daffodils

is the trellising our farmer speaks of blink in a basket

go back to get your stuff: still better to stare down

yes a sky inside too

just play

giving philosophy an after-school promotion

I keep binoculars always & even farther now I am so sure I know

nothing of you what a loss my dog is slow birthing a dirt removal

has space between the bones close to the feel

of the eat the holding a good chunk of all this fair Spiral section keys deep in piano sinking in order

placement there is

first time between the legs a section of machinist swamp canoe did something through:

that burial ground heralded in untouchable mischief we shook its stalks & solarized

patience in

VI. That pairing of ancestral marches is a clap at the back of the bite I know so little when I love about

the sea like searching attic the top of the farm in the dark

have planked in

wear the solstice & second into looking:

I will push into you an end then:

mansion of self-fashionings disrobed

an elk hangs our cabin a trophy

VII. What a redness this altitude— I honk worrisome thread-bared

willing harmony

something of a sharp

harp snow-globed & half-a-night passing a culture up for constant storms

lost the other rowers not a shake they will be hard-lined closed with pregnancy: your hair is growing nice

for docking:

I am out in the middle of cattails

this sun

fanning out the nightmare keep a lamp spurred I know my cowboy attitude will saddle

starting the climb a parka’s equidistance to the dog tail drumming I’ve an axe on my back packed for the first chop of our love: here me out: dark nestles

VIII. chaos in the form of a winter lake a middle place for containing this I look room

these pines are supportive

such as lightly feeling

no gloves on this snow-fingering

bring me a mountain top:

such betweening—

IX. Managing well with that song being memorized a road trip with no cruise control disten dear comforting I know dawn now but brush for a dusking— you can play any instrument poorly & the child will jam out from the innocent chamber of bell

I could be fond of remaining inside

not too sure it has happened for love yet—touch like a wet beach go under a few trees until the ups clear off this chop now this arrangement of heroics this way of not hatting a home it can be fielded—that question of how to know a meadow’s soundtrack will be turn of the lock sun in the shot trained for the subliminal pitting: sure enough that discovering drain

an iodine on the outage: we don’t brush our teeth for long because we are looking at ourselves a hellish

you started out with the solo strum I know an orchestra will only manage to damage my dog knew me at the steps my dog loads the film & snaps

X. A pleasing greenery

a notice on the breath about tomorrow’s show being

cancelled air in the wires don’t snipe a missing I didn’t feel how great it was to leave this hair on my face today there was a suit in a locker & a baby we still sense a mountain forward:

look me a passenger

threw it all up

got together a good-looking team made plans even an arch I detect Plush boink envisioned— argues me into it

where we spent the night I get a degree in it & the skin—O! how it

handled back a cramp

but I see it now—the place where the

topping gives an angle a setting is punch-want is summer-order in the channel where the moose set its small ones down & followed us out the creek I buried a heart I can know now of having carried away from the water spots there is a sunroof my dog took its neck right through & many dinners to make this go around

XI. Chopping at the pines sign for picking you for the road through—

when a sheet of snow scatters at the basin my cone my

best cave yet, but what light? a new street to park on the therapist says dimmer switch when Kierkegaard spoke about it I didn’t consider this year as being one later to make me that naked snack of solo sit so wanted so fire in small winter a log goes on log goes on: my dog tuned our rampage accordingly this presses on in line with spurting blood just fucken everywhere too much to offer a humming campfire me

but so many of my selves around: don’t look into my dog

spending shape on it not an artery nor its plume for patterning good darling knee rip a jean stance

the pulse of space

I should fang a snowbank

practicing all the time: sometimes you have to come inside

XII. Acreage is I have laid out the whole table to plate this search to axe


dog the

touching down: I can see now I have come a ways up the whole band swallows my silt this sporting is another chance to get closest to & closing too: up the straight

sitting out

sleep-siding the hill the bank awaits:

blood in the snow


the ways for

XIII. I thought I felt your shape but I was wrong I’m going to keep you in the other room sun in the corner of the eye the backup is sundown silent & the aftertaste of a gripping shock how it is interrupting at times finds closeness: of your nails to my belly button as though I am losing every nerve I must have let that wood tic stay for too long the space a baby’s face takes with eyes closed fat toes pixel-pronged: sometimes you have to come inside for the idea

ride a horse unaffordably toward or how the hooves of this carriage station my whimpers at the trail’s edge we forget a going forward when so long it’s been our one move only

XIV. Left the dog on the porch watched the scamper of blood blots dampen the knuckle hairs again

to have hummed out a longing for it

that first foot in the lake the dunking under for please galvanize my splinters age me indifferently until the reunion spits its cringe

whole screen set up no gnat to pillar such stamina: in speaking of sizes I hold yours like a birthday to cake this all the batter such candles will handle off the forecast— lamping:

every orifice quite similar when opening to the gargoyles of the Vanderbilt hatch there were servants who removed the bars of the window to place their genitals in shadow

XV. I would grip every other ailment of this main steeple & guidebook a forgetting but you see how much a bender teems when the pit never comes to the compost dividing it all in half: there how my dog snuck snout in screen snapped the netting back every bird cities in now: where were the directions we kept for getting out? that form of our joining how the challenge kept it unnoticed she hung neck around

took sands to our lingo but shutter is

the ease never until knew it all through the cramping fast slash at the shin whole bottle backed down

flap tongue

tooth taken these blades at the top of the mowers hurting off their sporting tanks have aimed lower for you

while we lure at the touch

will hold a warning

Tyler Flynn Dorholt is completing an MFA at Columbia College Chicago, where he also teaches Visual Writing & Rhetoric. He coedits the Columbia Poetry Review, reads for Hotel Amerika, and is co-editor and publisher of Tammy, a print journal whose inaugural issue arrives late winter 2009. Works of his recently appear or are forthcoming in Denver Quarterly, American Letters & Commentary, Quarterly West, Action Yes, Octopus, and Zaum.

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