Back at the back of the running dog pack and
there's no looking back in the pack.

I growl my resistance to change and
put distance between us.

We eat on the go because nothing can slow us from reaching the destination we chose, but not one dog of us knows where that destination might be.

I am back, but I may as well pack up my bags
and go back to wherever
it was that I came from.

When no one knows where we are going and the road is so long how can it be wrong to make right and turn risk into a brisk walk away.

Back to the pack through the cranks and the ranks of the bulldogs, into the wheels and the cogs of machine driven scenery,
how green are we
that we couldn't see the wood for the barking?
How could we not know that mad dogs only go to the pound?

I stick around for a while, but my heart isn't in it
If there's a collar
I wear it?
but swear it's
for the lady
to choose.