Put your good money on the big one, the one with the powerful broad knot of muscles down the sleek-coated back, the one chained and throttling itself with all that fierce foam, rage in the breeding, killing in the birthline. Large, low, heavy to the head and with a guttural bark, always bristling, never still, never resting, that is the money dog. You can be the dog for the money. Even I would bet against me, bait animal, ever waiting to die, waiting and wanting your teeth and your tongue. Some end to spare the endless dead inside. We dream ourselves as ancient warriors, Roman traces in our veins, this world is not for us, the door bitches to Hades. I know you want your money, girl, so dismember me remember me then fiat lux and eat that which belongs to the world.
Pull my every teeth from my head and string them as a necklace of butcher pearls.
eleanor j jackson 