The old garrulous man
I dressed him and tamed his mane
he's all lust and none of it is directed at me
I'm trying to shove a sleeping pill
into his most compliant orifice.
Rabid dogs are howling by the sea
they sound so hopelessly out of touch
their eyes are scattered all across the gutters
and used as ornaments in sandcastles
I've never built one
I've never mistaken dog's eyes for beads.
There's an opiate antagonist
glistening under the bed
its bright color ominous and ear-shattering
I ply him with tepid beer and suggestive lyrics
but the old man is fed up with me
'no more generic sympathy, please'
he snaps and breaks my swagger.