self righteous, self published
sought out and backlash
sick of  black and white
pictures of **** women
and being taboo

and the only thing left in the house that’s interesting to see
is the moon through the window

but you came along
smashing my head against a windshield,
and the moment of collision
a weightless jolt

voices echoing through the cracks in the asphalt
gas leaks making me light heading and I’m hearing
little melodies in light bass tones

a gust of wind down the hill blows cracked leaves
between my boots and I feel as if I
was falling from a tree myself.

And you hit me again
thrusting over and over
pulling my skin off
in a delirium, where
I numb my mind and try to read
the story of your wall before you open your eyes again
or I watch your chest, wondering how quickly
your heart must be beating and how
my legs are soaked
wreaking of *** for the rest of the afternoon
before wandering back to my bed

sleepwalking to the beach, with images,
rapids, sediment ashtrays covered
in squatters,
voyagers trying to stay the night without
freezing to death because the residents
across the boardwalk wouldn’t trust a
tattered traveler with only enough possessions
to fit on his back.

reveries, savages, vagrants,
in dreams follow me in the woods
syndicating ****** schemes
to keep me on edge

the moon plays these motion pictures
and I consume myself every night
before the sun light.

Kindred transformation
correlates experience
to my canidae companion
life is a pit bull husky mix
loyal roamer fierce friend
running through thorn bushes
in the hushed hilly countryside
unaware of speeding cars
and demonic dog catchers
populating the arachnid cityscape.

I chase a rabbit to said city
keeping my dog head with me
so I can only see in black and white
a transformative color palette
allowing an allowance for my breed
to take the maximum instead of its needs.
A dastardly deal is done in daylight
for spiders to be dogs
and dogs, spiders
splitting spoils
of both species syndicating society
by painfully punishing unfamiliar families.

Four legged frenzy in my feet fortifies me
from eight legged monsters in the street
slinging webs of concrete—
a wanderer's kennel terrifying terrarium
trapping wasps and butterflies
masticating maliciously
reproducing rapidly
trap door spiders create black widows
and envelope stray dogs in white cloaks.

My vigilance guides serpentine movement
strafing from treacherous entanglement
of the tarantula treaty offering silk
cocoons claimed to be for safety
at the price of my mobility.

I must return to the warm
glow that helps me see
even if that means
crawling through the sewers
and eating from the trash
to emerge from the thorn bushes
that tear off my jackal costume
as the sun cleanses my wounds
uncovering cloud counting capability
accumulating cumulus compatriots
and oak marchers waving green flags
showing they can prosper with tranquility
but these flags draw insects that eat contentedly
until there's enough ingesting in sects to draw spiders.