Shadow Dogs and I

Not as fiddle faddle as my usual swill, but I like it.

Shadow dogs crawl in spiced mud of warm paradigms
barking and howling; befouling collective
perspective and eminent directives that shine
in our eyes like lies burned in futile effigy.
Nothing makes sense to me about the We!
Or We make sense about the nothing of me!
And I cuddle with mongrels in a sphere of filth
that nobody owns, but everyone built.
We writhe in love muck below the platinum hate,
playing soothing tunes; singing songs that sedate.
I can’t make the connections or stand in the lines
so I crawl in spiced mud of our warm paradigms.

Author's Note

Meaty tidings my grinning chums! Enjoy!

Reviews

[Penelope Allen]

Sounds something like politics - elections - lobbyists. You almost always include at least one word that I must stop and admire for a moment before continuing my read.

[Robert Francis Callaci]

Lots of meat to this poem- We live in the stink and the mud but most of us aren't awake to notice- thanks to the shadow dog who lull us into complacency. This is a good one-

my warmest
bob