I feel as spotless as a dalmation
Covered with the filth of self,
Leaning toward dissatisfaction,
And growling at the hand that feeds me.
The leash tightens around my neck,
Spinning me in circles . . .
Hopelessly lost, I chase my tail
In a never-ending battle to find myself...
I don't realize that the leash is safety,
Dragging me away from the dangers of vehicular denial.
But still I strain against it,
Begging for my freedom . . .
And I think I am content with the table scraps of the world.

06/11/2002

Posted on 09/20/2002
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