The Hunt 

An old blind wolf of a dog licks at its leg and misses

      -- sops up dirt off the art room floor

                                    -- laps mindlessly, catches his front paws again 

smoking pot like surgery; two things you never want together

                                          -- makes the best metaphors 

The hamster wheel click-clack-clatters

                        -- but I can't see the rodent in its neon habit trail  

                                    I am a Russian wild cat

“This one's the rogue” attacks the fingers on his chin

      -- follows everything with his whole head

      -- jumps at the light

                        and tries to bat it off the wall

      -- doesn't get the game 

The garbage disposal knows only one emotion

                                          -- pure rage--

between  you being a person and you becoming a stain 

the white snake turns her head slow

      -- sos rodent don't notice

                        -- speckled skin under the heat lamp

            -- a red desert under glass

hamster wheel clat-click-clackers back into life

      -- forked tongue predator

                              -- Soviet jungle panther beast

can you siphon a camel?

                  -- dehydrated in the alleyway

Drunken-rag-doll-tango lush-legs

                              lumber through puddles and “oh here she comes”

      -- someone's pretty little baby

                              -- high on her pillow hissing with her ears back 

Disfortunate 

tell me about your osmosis

about getting gobbled up by weather

I want to breathe wet

a slight chance of rain showers 

in the end, bacon won the prize

katana swords make men (into) dinner

he's going to bring cool catness back

baby loves digable planets 

what about the assemblage of gingerbread?

Shakespeare takes a brand new job

if nothing foes wrong against horse thieves

or the dignified quality of an opera box 

the Adult Services of a California blonde

indulge & unwind- New York Style 

Preface Banned in 1176 

Johnny Cash's low death rattle glued together because Walt Whitman gave permission- it's unclean at the edge of his translation of young Western poets, blazing and crackling part of a vessel.  Head, body and eventually rustic living room from Latin, Spiritus, breath.  I want to breathe a greater language.  The guitar to the next player to coat pockets, sweater pockets, ivory tower vernacular idiom.  One third cat, one third Joni Mitchell, one third assembling and expressing Chinese writing word slammed against the unobstructed.  On the other hand, about ten years later, searching for something to grab with candor in Bejing and daughter.  Plate-glass signification drowned under his pounding heart and one wrong horse.