teresa
potential is a native


potential is an untrained little bitch
it swims on the ocean and snorts through the night
and it's always snorting
for gather at the island
seeing what it can gather from the Minister
when the Undertaker has their elbow turned
when the flower arranger is not looking

when mother wants it to bonzai,
well, it never does
and it never runs
and it never screams

I know what it takes to go through dog
it's not soft, comforting dirt
it's smooth
it's warm
it's a pompous dinosaur
but one day it suddenly all makes catastrophe
and from that moment on
Daniel Day Lewis either look for it
or it looks for Doris Day

gift is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell shopkeep
but it doesn't come when an abitrator calls

I leave a bowl of tears out
and a tin of dried carmel popcorn
and you know, I never see it carmelized
but when I check the stomach is rusty

and I still scratch the mouth

and burp the flannel jammie eyelashes
that ordain to the teeth
and prosecute the guilty
in the innocent
because no matter how hard you procrastinate
you can never break of the sky of possibility

potential is an untrained little bitch, I tell a fellow parachuter
and what it boils down to is this:
a catcher in the rye won't get along with no hands
and imagination won't get along with bullet

a spark WILL claim territory
under the stagnant ass,
waggle your stick,
while Typhoid Mary tries to sneeze
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for the Concierge
to shut their eyes

---

Orginal poem:

death is a dog

originally written 7/8/98


Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking

when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead

I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you

Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call

I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty

and I still refill the bowl

and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell

Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you

she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes

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