Sharp Teeth

he knows that it's impossible to tell a wolf from a man if he keeps his chin up and his teeth clean.

The bullet we're running from is almost never the one that hits us.

And were you cornered by her, eye to eye, you would see that there are still some watchful creatures whose essence lies unbound by words. There is still a wilderness.

Call him Judas if you want but he did it for reasons much older than silver.

Some things don't pass, the injuries don't heal they merely find a place in our guts and in our bones where they fitfully rest, tossing and turning between our knuckles and ribs waiting to wake as the shadows grow long.

The secret must stay and- according to scientists- the love will live. The heart is quite comfortable with secrets. After all, its home is a dark wet place tucked in among all the other organs who aren't talking either.

That's what love does/ It chases the dragons away/ before their claws can sink in.

As she stared at the ceiling that first night her body softly falling back into itself, she thought of how we dream of journeying on spaceships to other universes, other worlds, but really, for the forever, we're stuck here on the dirt and the only time we will travel anywhere truly unknowable is when we slip into the skin of another, venturing into their mysteries, always hoping for a safe landing.

Everyone is always looking in the wrong direction, we worry about our lovers while losing our jobs we stress out about cancer while our children run away we ponder the stars while burning the earth. Lark used to say the buller we're running from is almost never the one that hits us.

There are two things that make the conscious world move, decision and desire.

You either trust or you distrust coincidence. It 's either small doses of magic pulling you to your appointed destiny or the devil trying to lead you down to the thorns.

The theory is simple. Every boy, every man, is really a bit of a golden retriever or a big chocolate Lab. Watch any man's eyes at the bounce of a ball. His head tilts slightly sideways, just a hair, as a primitive focus comes to life.

Like so much of the trouble in the world it ends simply with exhaustion.

Each dog marks a section of our lives, and in the end, we feed them to the dark, burying them there while we carry on.

He said, You know, whoever hurt you dies every time they look in the mirror. That is how they pay." She crossed her arms. "And one day, Maria, you will die too, but there's no reason for you to die every day.

Monkeys What! His partner said. Monkeys are funny, said Peabody.'So why didn't we we pick monkeys. His partner sighed and shook his head with sad dismay. Monkeys? Jesus. Monkeys' idea of fun is throwing their shit at you. Monkeys always take the joke a step too far.

But in all these tales the dog is the innocent shooting star we all wish upon until it burns up, aging fast and disappearing behind our jagged horizons. Each dog marks a section of our lives, and in the end, we feed them to the dark, burying them there while we carry on.

This coyote is a wily dog born from ancient trickster bones, Loki, Hermes, the northwestern Raven of lore

Their love is eternal because time seems to have fled, embarrassed to be sharing such a small apartment with so much dumb affection.