From the height of the highway onramp we saw,
two dogs, dead in a field,
glowing on the oakland coliseum green seats wasteland,
dogs, dogs we thought were dead,
they rose up, rose up when whistled at,
their rib cage inflating like men on the beach being photographed,
a guard dog, guard dog, for what? for what?
against tofers ellis pennyless athletics fanatics,
getting into games through a whole in the fence,
for the owner of the blue tarp tent,
pitched by a creek beneath an onramp,
in the privacy of the last three,
skin and bony tree, devoid of leaves,
and us undeceased, and our new cds,
dippin’ on goodies, oakland
it’s hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead under a sky so blue,
you have to stop the blood to your head,
to fit the breathe in front of you,
we secretly long to be some part of a car crash,
long to see your arms stripped of the tendons,
the nudity of swelling exposed vein,
webbing the back of your hand,
to be a red tendoned dog,
to be red tendoned dogs,
blood breathing by the side of the highway
i long to be dead,
center of a curious crowd,
to be touched,
sticky like nearly dried paint,
their soft silent stare nursing your face,
anticipating the slightest pinch i flinch of pain,
everyone blank in accident awe,
as the car crash fiberglass dust straight up settles
on your raw muscle tissue
it’s hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead under a sky so blue,
you have to stop the blood to your head,
to fit the breathe in front of you,
to be a red tendoned dog, to be red tendoned dogs,
to be red tendoned dogs, to be red tendoned dogs,
to be dead center of a curious crowd
~against my misery i don’t think i’ve seen my screeching pain,
i can now feel what’s around us it is some sort of harmony,
the harmony of overwhelming murder~