My parents used to have a grey miniature schnauzer named Jacques. While his brother Pablo was big and black and thick, Jacques was wiry and small. Over the years, his runtiness and Pablo's brotherly abuse (stealing food, mounting his haunches) made him kind of squirrely. If he had been a human he would have been diagnosed and put on medication, but Jacques was only a dog, and so he was allowed to lead his neurotic, pampered life.

Playa d’Oro
The canopy above ajerk with toucans
ajerk with toucan, and no, 
you can’t eat them, 
so sorry.
 
let’s draw an arbitrary line, 
at something we’ll call reality
something we’ll call when we need it, 
keep at a distance when we don’t
 
in the travel journal i thought that there was plenty of material, 
plenty of poems.
I was mistaken it
turns out to be a bunch of lists.