deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Doghouse
Disenchantment at the doghouse.
Passion cools
to curse & sense,
perfect,
beyond the shadow
of a doubtful cur.
Familiar scent
of a stranger's air.
Teeth & splintered
chops down cold,
or red to running
on purpled howling.
These wet work meals
that pop & please
on empty beds
of dust & dream.
A mutt for all seasons,
I am
outdoors, you know.
Disengagement at the doghouse.
Cooler heads
that laugh at cold, hard
reality...
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