maybe it was the stalking mystery
that ran the perfect sidewalk blind,
waiting to pounce from the pebbled curb
that forced the bark of health to wonder
whether claws could crack the code
and the scarlet purring of a cougar mind.
sure, there was mustard slathered rye
and the delivery of a crumbly toast
to dispel the cryptic myths of bread:
a carnage of sandwich in a deft parade,
that produced this lathering of frothy madness.
what was missed in the grim procession
was a reaper moving from black to red
through the harvest of suburban hedgerows:
a scythe of pink deliverance in curved disguise.
one build-up, one moment, one release,
in the technicolor pomp of circumstance,
to pierce the pump that pumps no more:
one long commuting train leads to return-
it's a lonely way to save a crumpled ticket,
to come once again upon the carnal thicket.
it was just a canine flashing for a pound,
a reet petite on the down low snapping ,
insanely unaware of the limit of the links:
one bubbly ocean cry for foamy limits
in the uncertain azure of your prison mind.
no wonder dogs play poker.