RSS SPIRIT

The dog laughs and dominance
is established. She is a lady first,
but will take your finger for a stick.

When you realize the dog is holy
it all makes sense. Your intense love,
the profound sense of fun, the dreams
of running and ripping a rabbit to shreds.

The dog takes it all like a lady.
She runs with grace and is afraid
of loud noises, befitting a refined nature.
Opportunity exhibits demons she suckles.
She bares teeth lunges into the street and
hopefully you will see her in a couple days.

Holy dogs are rare indeed. How to spot one?
A pulchritudinous panting, a profound sense of calm
and the occasional massacred bag of trash.

The dog is barking again,
the trees are spiralling still,
along Cortez Street that
human beauty in a late afternoon sun.

Nostalgia has left.
Where? Now grit on teeth while
walking dirty city style, yes this
includes fried chicken and stern
brick buildings up against the sun.

Spirals are the shape of it,
Portugese music via Canada
is the sound of it.
Looks like a frisky haze haunting
streetlining bushes under an
angled sun.

It arrives commentless and
noticeless, not like the rockbands
on corner boardups.
It beckons but not much. It dangles
a fat frisky sun.