The Call of the Wild

stock-photo-dog-with-leather-leash-waiting-to-go-walkies-164733143

An equilibrium

Between pleasure and pain.

A pros and cons list

I’m running into the dark

Through the cracks

Between teeth

And into the belly

Of the beast.

She yanks my leash

Tethered to her belt

She is a walker of dogs

And I am meant for the wild,

For the freedom in independence,

Individualism

Isolation.

I jump into the abyss

Into the vastness

The sweltering stomach acid

But she still holds me by my leash

Suspended in esophagus

A moment between isolated liberty

And affectionate constraint.

The leash tightens around my throat

Her well to do

Tender noose.

Perspectives of the Beast

 

I love the closing lines on this one, “Strong beating heart found to give chase Incisors laid, jugular vein, razor sharp.”

I loved the idea. The iconic image of London’s dogs of the wild. Maybe the real wolves run wall street.

Response Poetry:

And the rolling topography

With its subtle curves

Has become oppressive

Under the gaze of big brother.

The cold metallic wolves

Eating bit after bite

Of the earthen crust

Species of predators

Filed under Carhart, corporate affairs

To crucify the totems

We once worshiped

 

Watchful eyes roam landscapes dark Attentive ears tune into its mark A serious game played, hunting prey As hunger pains echo from the day The warning growl silences singing lark Strong beating heart found to give chase Incisors laid, jugular vein, razor sharp

via The Hunt — Exclusive Inflictions

Freedom is a Dog’s Best Friend

“Don’t you ever tire of shoving your finger up noses?” The thick man, painted in tattoos and decorated in piercings glared. He put his finger up the dog’s nostril, marking where the stud would be placed by a black dot. The mini poodle wagged its tail, and his head traced the walls of the room, excited to be someplace new. The man placed one of his fleshy cleavers on the back of the puppy, he lined up the needle, but the dog jerked his head out of place. “C’mon snuffiluffigous. This week you have to be punk.” She slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, the loud smack of chewing gum reverberating through the room. “That can be done right?” She reminded me so much of Paris Hilton. Maybe it was the long heels, or the blonde hair, or the I.Q. lower than the price of gas. Someday I’ll get the courage to leave, but for now. The dog squealed like a pig being led to the slaughter. The dog laid his head against the piercing table. Defeated, we looked at eachother. Snuffilufigous and I both knew how wrong this was.

“AWWWWW Snuffilufigous you look so Metal! We’ll win the competition for sure!”
“Punk sweetie.”
“What?” She rotated on her heals like the earth and the sun, glaring like the ogre with the needle.
“She has to be punk for this, not metal.”
“Please Frank, it’s all the same shit.”
Joe Strummer was talking to me. I could hear it deep within the recess of my mind. “Grab the freesta breeze from her hand, throw it in her face, and run for the fucking hills.”
“not quite.”
She grabbed the poodle off of the table, and strutted her way through the front door.

“Ma’am you have to pay for it!”

I sighed. I didn’t need this shit. “I’ve got it covered” I wrapped it up. 190$ for a piercing, right. That was bullshit.

“You know, a pretty face isn’t everything.” I circle no tip. “Yeah well, thanks for your philosophy.” Bullshit.
But she knew how to make my tail wag, and that’s it. That’s all it is. That’s when I think about when she’s torturing our poor dog for the next pageant, squeezed into a leather jacket that’s more of a corset than anything. The scratch to my itch is what I think about when she tells me how “warm Hiroshima must be now that there’s radiation, how good it has to be for sun bathing.” I smile and nod, I don’t bark, because if I do, there will be no one to scratch behind my ears.
She goes straight to the bedroom. “come here honey.” I open the back door. The dog scratches at his nose piercing. “Bad dog!” He stops for a moment, running outside. Outside of this place he is ecstatic. Smiling mouths, and the most his tail has wagged all day. He scratches at the nose ring again, but I say nothing. Placing his paw on his nose he tears it out. It glimmers in the grass, and a small stream of blood runs down its face. There’s a hole in the fence he thinks we don’t know about. I turn to grab the keys off of the hook on the wall. When I look back to the yard, Snuffilufigous is gone. I turn and walk out the front door.

“Are you coming baby?”

Meeting the In-Laws

These egg shells
Are unbelievable, hard
Fish hooks
In the soft underside
Of feet of leisure

He peers from over his hand
Protruding, and expectant.
There is no smile,
No kindness or love in the
Contours of his face

It’s as if
He wants to bash the creator
On the nose with a rolled up
Newspaper
For making me on this earth.

I regret the regret
For ever existing,
For wanting to apologize
For ever stepping
On the same ground
As him.

I’ve been collecting shame
For too long now
If I reached a pawn shop
And sold it on a loan,
I could buy this country
And burn it to the ground

In the end
All to remain
Are a few ashes
Content with
It’s sad existence.

Under the Muzzle

Is that how you see me?
On hands and bended knee.
Would you rather have your Mercedes
than this old sled dog
Calling out to be free?

When you read those fairy tales
At such a tender age
did the room at the top of the tower
directly translate to kennel?
Is a fair maiden
Man’s best friend?

Could the idea
that your own mother
differs from cerberus
be so ground breaking.

Could a thought
hold more content
than a bark
or a growl?

Or will the leash remain
like a noose forever tightening
a noose of sexualization
and breeding.

Only when a dog bites
is it a dog.
When an underdog bites back
it is a bitch
So is it a complaint
or a compliment?