Dogs Fiddling Around in a Park - unleashed

 O Ye Angels of Suburban muck!
your brash fey greeting cry of FUCK
it yearns always just for the truth
the simple face of vacancy
a heart that's honest, wild and free
from nightfall's jungles deepest dusk and hardwood trees
to loneliest pinnacles and crowded beach
they flit about most direly 
appearing to be but angry or twee
a punk rocker belongs nowhere
and there's nowhere for them to be
but everywhere, they're luminaries



Poetry tells the truth.
Poetry is music, it must be sung.
to throttle a wren a'warbling
to snuff out a cricket's chirp
to sneer at comic books and stories
not written but handed down
from mothers and fathers to bratlings
mock them and you're the clown
♪


Riffing dangerously wild and free, we
flitting about like a hummingbird in a flowering tree
stumbling through the air as if a drunken bee, a.k.a. sporadically erratically
like the worst kind of jazz, noodlings on piano keys in mutually masturbatory conservatories


purple trickling down the tiles
leaning hand on sticky wall
bass indistinct fuzz pounding we see black jeans rumpled under stall
two weedy suburban kids nervous and clean in the hall
pissing themselves waiting for money they handed a stranger to come back