Poetry by George Yatchisin

Further

I almost missed it     worried I had to do this
had to get back     but at least pulled back
from a typical     passive aggressive fit
and took     the dogs on that extra block
bagged two shits     from the one who pulls
and then just at     the point of turning back
a moon an artist might cry over     just past full
so giving up its own huge ghost     yellowed
like something we think is old     slicing clouds
as beautiful as a teenager cutting     for to feel
hurts and perhaps     we should never do it
to ourselves     just wait for the world     just
keep walking     and there, there it is     stop
me when I don’t love you enough     when
I don’t     let us walk into the night like we
belong there     even with dogs     bags of shit
and dumb life to do in glorious moonlight