Fall gets in without asking and grasps the wicked wheel of the year. He presses cut apples to your lips, erasing the memory of other seasons. Then he drives you through the night, tearing color from the trees.
The hairless blog dog sits all day with its wiry tail lying limp on the floor. Its letter teeth grin up at you each time you pass its door. Creepily, it bides its time. It knows at night you’ll break and take it to that park in the dark where strangers stare openly, and the blog dogs howl–and once in a while, someone dares to say, “Hi.” Your bloggy doesn’t sleep, so you tie it to the wall. Then you fall in your bed with its face in your head and try to ignore its whine.