With wagging tails
like iron-chains, slamming the concrete bridge
between Manhattan and Aalst
With crumbles, his whispers clawing into pores and ripping up the dermis within
and replaces Pus with ulcers
filled to the membrane with sap
sap straight from the roots, who's structure is sweet, with no bitter undertones
only sugar.
That tail, made of lead
wags with an excited stupor
drunk on the sap retrieved by that retriever
who's honey-gold eyes shine in the early mornings
when you are awake
and I am in slumber
The tails are the key to Mapling
though the ears
and the whiskers
and those pore-digging-claws
are the equipment
the machinery to obtaining the sugar of life
and you, young pup
are the giver, the harvester
of lifes most vital organs
whom you give to your owner
the man who feeds you
who you feed
in return
for love.
