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they live by the sharp of your teeth
mood: 
depressed
depressedCadaver Dog
Suppose everything depends on being loved
by the others. When you root in the night-heap
you are special to them: they see your coat
as though it were hung across the moon
to dry, and they love you. What they believe is
that they live by the sharp of your teeth; it's true —
everything which comes to them
through the cool industry of your watch,
and those legs all smaller things run before. If
you love them, you hunt. If they love you,
it is best that you forget it, when a doe tacks hard
into the wash of the stream, and where your kind
has always been going is exactly where you are —
that gentle bed, doing what you love. There is no
single word for the charity of your smile.
Seth Abramson is the author of The Suburban Ecstasies, Ghost Road Press, 2009. Recent poems are also forthcoming in New American Writing, Salmagundi, New York Quarterly, Pleiades, Subtropics, LIT, and elsewhere. A graduate of Harvard Law School and a former public defender, Seth currently attends the Iowa Writers' Workshop.
All Good Things - Jobe
