Poems for the zooted and the zonked

Dog

So simply put

I must walk these halls for two years more

hollow to the core, able to be uplifted by weak winds

loose footing, eyes darting from my left peripheral to my right  peripheral

the place is founded on bare necessity, wood-chips flaking off wooden doors

cold walls like the visual equivalent to the taste of gruel 

the souls that surround me are esoteric, unfathomable super-computers

clamped knuckles come crunching down onto worn wooden desks like a  judge's hammer

direct and we finna follow 

demand and we finna supply

preach unto us and we finna take those notions to the grave

we begin as the raw embodiment of potential and end up as lame, limp dicked lumps of quivering flesh

the only thing separating us from the dog pissing on the side-walk is that we know what's coming for us and the dog doesn't 

and we dawn the title of apex predator like some badge of honour 

but tell me, who dies the good death? the great big fat man slamming keys, punching numbers and just about getting it on a few nights a week?

Or the dog pissing on the side-walk?