The HyperTexts

Joseph Andros

Joseph Andros describes himself as an Unprofessional Songwriter, a Freelance Insultant (Undeliberate), a Professional Debtor, a Chief Neologian and Synonym Differentiator, a Social Justice Worrier and Unrepentant Unregenerate Privilege Apologist, and an Online Poet of Note (at least one).


Every time
I get full of myself,
my self expands
and I'm just a marble
in a giant's hand, and then
I have to grow again.


In ancient days,
my love for you
lurched formlessly
among the wilds
in search of you to feel about
in search of me to feel inside
down all those days
without a form,
my love of you
grew mad and strange.
'Til we were born,
and it found me,
and I found you,
and we were changed. 

Ghost of a Dog

yard's haunted
nobody knows whose dog
people who lived here before say
they never had a dog

or maybe they never played with it

poor thing
you can hear it
out there, nights
you throw a tennis ball out
come the morning, it's all chewed

won't come near you though
scared, I think
sometimes, you hear a whimper
sometimes, a whine

you know she just wants love

you throw a treat out there
come the morning, it's untouched
that's how I knew it's not raccoons
plenty of 'coons out here, but
they don't go near our yard

scared, I think

it's too late for a treat

yard's haunted
poor thing out there,
whining and rustling at night
never barks

called the church, exorcist says
they don't do dogs
goddamn papists
bunch of bureaucrats, I swear

you know she just wants love

I want to love you honey!
but how can I do it? If you
were corporeal, I could find some way
coax you out where I could see you
love on your matted and smelly fur until
you knew you could trust me. Let me
give you a bath, feed you up

you won't come near me, though
can't keep keeping me up like this
honey, what's wrong? who was it
chained you in this yard?

I know you just want love 


She stands at the window
observing people
destroying the trees
around her house, so
the tenants won't have any leaves
to rake.

They don't understand

and neither does she,
but they won't get away with it.
She sees

What they're going to take.

She sees the workmen, impersonal.
They arrive in small
white trucks, for a job
they were hired to do
like any other.

If they had refused,
then somebody else

would be watched, right now

by the girl who is watching you

Who is trying
to help, to witness,
to do what she can,
to see what is wrong,
and not turn away
from such business.

These aren't their trees,
but they go right through
and they take them down.

These trees belong
to whoever will pay
to cut through the living trunks
and leave stumps,
like ready-made headstones,
marking graves.
These trees,

there was nothing wrong
with them, and no one
and nothing
to save.

These trees,
they belonged
to the birds, all around
dropping down
what they think
of us.

While they couldn't have known,

we can see they were right,
by how we treat
what we say

we own.

She stands by the window
and sees it all. In her mind,
she holds who's responsible.

And maybe, one night or two gone by,
she'll sneak out with a knife
and carve some sign

to show "goodbye,"
and "I wish I could save you,"
and "I know who did it."
I saw it all.

And maybe they'll see,
from their own windows.
They'll see and they'll know

she saw everything.

They'll go out in the morning,
to find the stumps marked
with a love heart and date
of the tree's demise,

and everything eerily silent
no birds to sing.

And then, uneasy, they'll bring

to look up to the window

and meet her eyes.

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