I can’t win, it’s the end of inattention. 
More bounce for the retina to unscrew my internal hysteria pouring up but
embarrassing, rocking like breaking news, losing both death and life, dropping your 
rogue’s whip down over my heels. 
 
Aren’t we supposed to feed the bad dogs? Yes but summer, winter? Minutes after my work is filed, neighbor’s dogs stand in line for a treat, free rein over the sentence.