Do Not Become the Dog

Do not become
the dog who imitates
its master the liar.
Do not enter the
room as a corpse
retiring to its grave.

All that commands
bears me a noose.
The campus rules
condone cleanliness.
We search the dirt,
fidgeting the old
deck of cards,
finding its youth.

The photos of the
demonstration,
the photo inserts
of cassettes,
reading their metaphor,
something despicable
is part of the pleasure.


Gone is the death of glory,
the annoying lisp hatred,
surreal landscapes appear,
words are spoken,
I can see the letters form,
and the consequences
for their destruction,
deeming them legitimate.

I also see the consequences
for the handcuffs you propose:
Mothball storage,
the humidity of your breath,
the years of lying in bed,
the death of it all,
how it drags,
how silent,
no arousal.