Figurine Man

Jacob Bride sets his mug of coffee down on the side table, and
sits himself down in the rocking chair on his back porch. He looks
out at the open desert. Takes a big smell of the fine dirt in the
air. From the side table, he picks up his sharpened knife and a
block of basswood. He looks down at his hands as he works, though
his mind's eye is jumping ahead. He whittles off the corners,
molding the basswood block into a shape that is curved, organic,
reminiscent of something living.

From out of the wood, Bride uncovers a mound. The figure is thick
to begin with, and is coiled thicker. He carves out her muscular
legs, muscular sides curved under her hunched muscular back, her
short tail. Her face is turned down between all of her legs,
licking herself. He carves out her short ears and the ridges of
her wrinkled face. He carves her tongue, and leaves protruding the
thin lines underneath. He carves her eyes closed in concentration.

With the rough shapes done, Bride retrieves his glasses from the
side table. In doing so, he also remembers his coffee, and has a
long drink of it now that it has gone from piping hot to warm.

Glasses on, Bride holds the wood closer to his eye level, and
leans in and around the work as necessary. He touches up the
detail of her nose buried in her vulva and her tongue pressing it
further, pushing the soft sex. He carves out the toes on each of
the paws, some of the toes fanned out as she licks, splaying her
little claws. He trims the claws each to a healthy length. Under
her tail he carves her muscular rump and the pit of her anus, and
carves out the details of the joints of the back legs, all just-
so.

Bride sets the figurine on the side table. She sits licking
without a wobble.



All The Happy Little Animals

Splashing around in a water park; running with high stomps through
the shallow water until it's deep enough to swim and then
splashing down and swimming; seeing your friend across the busy
pool waving you over, and swimming around everybody to go meet
them; putting your heads under together, each of you holding your
breath, opening your eyes to look; your friend resurfaces and you
follow, and they reach up to the poolside and show you they
brought pool toys to dive for, and the two of you drop them and
watch them all dart down to the bottom of the pool, and the two of
you go down after them, seeing who can grab more; you go to the
water slide, wait in line in the warm sun, which feels nice after
the cold pool; you fly down the slide and make a huge splash when
you hit the water at the bottom, and then swim out of the way to
make way for the next person. The ducks get to have this as their
life; they are nourished and livened by swimming around, shouting,
diving and splashing, taking off and splashing, putting their
heads under, play. When the seasons become too warm or too cold,
they make a long trip over beautiful landscapes to a place that is
more right for them; eat bread; lay an egg; stretch your wings;
float and bob on a gentle wave for an hour, taking in all the
goings on around your pond.



Awakening

Waking up,
sluggish surrealness,
I don't know
the time,
where I am,
who the president is,
what my name is,
or whether I am facing east.
I do know the warmth,
cozy heat,
of someone
in the blankets with me.
Eyes unopened,
I know nothing of
the world outside of
my sense of smell, and touch:
I am touching fur
which is ever slowly rising,
falling,
and rising,
and falling;
I am smelling dog,
his breath--
I breathe in when he breathes out
to take in the fullness of his breath,
and I breathe out when he breathes in
so that he can have mine.
We both stretch, and inch our nuzzling way
closer into one another's reacclimating bodies.
I breathe in the smell of his fur on his chest.
I know of the world I have woken into
that I am loved and love.