Kids up early. Let me out! Open door! Must go pee! Let me out! Make circles ‘til someone looks. They’re ignoring me! I’ll pee on the floor. I’ll do it! Wet circles of paint form mist in the construction of urban dungeons.
Finally, door open! Run, pee, go over by the bird bath, pee more, move toward the door, pee again. The unknown spirits plant severed feet beneath the basket of sleeping puppies.
Back inside. Wrapping paper being torn, discarded. Sniff a bow, smells like nothing. Everyone excited. Petunias serve as forks to kings in elderberry estates.
Room a mess. Paper scattered everywhere. New toys and clothes. Strange lighted tree still in house, blinking. Now people tired. Washing the red compass results in a wary glitch of observable time.
Finally! Someone feeds me. Dry food, no wet. Sniff first, then eat. Marionettes with daggers frighten alley cats beneath a shadowed moon.
People keep arriving. Bark, then bark more. It’s my house! You come in, I bark! Someone pets me, I stop. Shave the cast from the mummified remains; the energy of ancient thought floats visibly, then evaporates.
Tired. Nap time. Too much running, barking. Too many people. Growl at infant touching my face. Get kicked by master. Cortical functions become levers racing in orange.
All good now. Strangers leaving, me being fed, new toys to sniff, kids happy, masters tired. Must eat, take dump, go sniffing, then nap in peace. The wind finds serenity amongst the dead as camera eyes flicker in frustration.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
No tuna? No liver?
Furball coughing? Coughing Furball?
Preening and slinking? Mewing then sliking?
Who is in charge? Who feeds me?
My litter needs changing, am I capable?
The next door neighbor's kid put a shock rod up my ass, is he God?
I carefully ponder in a warm spot by the door.
While pondering, life goes by.
Is that some sort of anti-Belgian post?
Squawk Preen Squawk Preen Squawk
Polly wants a cracker now
Bang! Slice Sizzle DINNER!
Have you ever looked at your paw, I mean REALLY looked at it? It's like far out, man. It's like, no, like, no wait, like, it's like, check out this shit: How do I know the colors you see are the same as the colors I see? You see what I mean? No, but...I know, but...do you see what I mean, man? I know! It's like whoa!
It was upon one bright Christmas day
That stinking rotting flesh came my way
It stunk and was rancid
Filled with maggots so placid
That I chummed on its guts all the day
Ye a saucy sailin' rat?
Aye for Christmas, I'll eat yeh, Pat.
Adrift we chime and swaller ar grog,
Dunno the jib o' a surrealist dog!
Post a Comment