Tail wagging
His tails wagging is no barking
Balking at wind, at passing car
Just body friends of wet sniffing
Two pant legs to be followed
Only to be shaken off in a vile
Basement of dark shadows
And sleeping cars in their veils.
Pant legs have no steel in them
And a soft bite is afraid of pain
By four ****** just below navel
Here love ferments but festers.
Lame dogs
Plenty of action is in the street
A dog leg is gone to child's pleasure
By a boy's stone at its whelping
But three legged dogs still bark
At passing cars, their shadows.
You cannot straighten his tail
His tail is like a crescent moon
Its flies like stars buzzing around
Or like a scythe the farmer uses
To bring his crop under control
And cannot be straightened ever
Like a crescent moon or a scythe.