Two Masters
The baby would drive us crazy.
Just listen to this dog outside your door
while we nestle in the chill,
two bodies in love. Which instinct
so keens at that pitch of pinched nerve?
Oh never doubt my consent
to torments of other sentience—
who once, in an unbalanced state,
call that childhood, let fingers embrace
cobra-like my cousin’s hamster
for one absent-eyed look. It had been fretless,
overfed. It was a must to constrict
its little emperor belly. How is it then
we call ourselves human, when moving
in the glandular hungers that make
such menagerie, this body lust,
money lust, lust of perception
for what limit of sense. This open yard
of free will has its neighborly fence,
the gate beckons in. Only missing
is a sign with the Rottweiler’s name.
The baby would drive us crazy.
Just listen to this dog outside your door
while we nestle in the chill,
two bodies in love. Which instinct
so keens at that pitch of pinched nerve?
Oh never doubt my consent
to torments of other sentience—
who once, in an unbalanced state,
call that childhood, let fingers embrace
cobra-like my cousin’s hamster
for one absent-eyed look. It had been fretless,
overfed. It was a must to constrict
its little emperor belly. How is it then
we call ourselves human, when moving
in the glandular hungers that make
such menagerie, this body lust,
money lust, lust of perception
for what limit of sense. This open yard
of free will has its neighborly fence,
the gate beckons in. Only missing
is a sign with the Rottweiler’s name.