5/4/93- Dogwalk

                                            5/4/93
                             Stockholm, Sweden
 
                 Dogwalk
 
 I'm fighting a spiritual morale problem
 Yesterday it all seemed probable, doable
 The worm has turned and staring without humor
 Past the lights and charmless walls I concede
 I hate when this time comes
 
 Every trip, every tour, holds this rotted fruit
 Fallen and kicked, waiting weeks in
 We must pass it in the rumbling night
 Near a reflectorless motor way mile marker, invisible
 To the sleeping coffins that glide by
 The next crypt waiting for a flourish of activity
 Acceptance ?!!!
 
 I spit the drying pulp of it in the nearest face
 And wait for the reaction
 Insanity at its definition smiles
 Counts the unspattered few
 
 I'm walking a hungry Russian wolfhound
 On a fraying leash that cuts my palm
 Wishing the shine would remain
 Might as well cut the fucker loose
 Watch him disappear into the waiting brush
 Flex my stiff hand without company
 Without thought of replacing him with another lesser beast,
 Never liked lap dogs anyway.