Nothing worse than being dominated,
falling victim of some power struggle.
It tells you that you are just that
and that's final. From then on,
no dreams are pure and simple.
It's broken will souring in a bottle
used as a molotov cocktail 
by any passing asshole.
Break out, break out, you fool!
Be an animal, not mineral or vegetable.


Have you taken a pill
that's hard to swallow.
It's bitter & hard,
and takes time to dissolve?
No sugar can chase it down.
No water can speed its way.
Then it lodges in your gut
and there, it is to stay.
Maybe I didn't choose
what comes my way;
didn't have a clue
until it gives away.
It's not in a hurry.
It knows more than I.
Time-released wisdom,
must you be such a drag?

After the Fourth.

I'm in love with my bed.
All the comfort I can bear,
from the soft duvet to the firm pillow,
especially after a hot bath.

I'm in love with hot bath.
My body aches for the steamy caress,
listen to the facet go, "Drip. Drip.",
especially after dinner with mom & dad.

I'm stressed dinning with them.
Serving the usual nerves & smiles,
too afraid to meet themselves,
especially since they got a house.

I love my parents' house.
It's spacious with big back yard,
so quiet with everyone inside,
all waiting for the fireworks.

A dog.

Time flies faster than the boxcar train which carries a single pupper away from its mother’s tit. The pupper, since fully grown, is now, dead. Before it succumbed a final time it accomplished three things: it crapped on a dress shoe; it caused the spill of high tea in a particular garden; and it yawned as it watched the martian sun sunk for one, final time. This is not a story anyone has to tell, but here we are, telling it as it happened to a dog who we shall call Lyttle Lytton for no reason other than that the “Lyttle Lytton Contest” is the mother who birthed little Ly and we are the clumsy fools that took Ly and put it in the before-mentioned train without contemplating the hurt a tiny little dog would inflict on life in the broad and general sense.