Don’t Let On

To play at incarnations like astrology –
This is my first time ‘round with an opposable thumb.
The occasional friend decrees their melancholy
To be repetition, allusion, the spiritual semiotics.
I am always desperate though,
Fascinated by the extent of disappointment
And beckoned by novelty to wager again.
Not optimism. It’s the curiosity of the pre-Socratics.
Solving the mysteries of like determining like.

So before, there is no question;
A dog, a hound, an honest fox, a hyena full with mange.
For the first experience of deja vu was feral want.
In the woods of course, my father’s Sheppard chaperoned the bourgeois Mougli.
Our time was flushing hare and picking the bones of deer.
Upon retracing our steps home, across the stream,
There was a bitch with a limp that told of landfill living,
And lo, my guardian leaves me to the rocks.

At first raise of ear, I thought a scrap was on,
But it was a lesson in courtship for our man-cub.
His low hips sunk further to the ground
And his paws played violent on her.
The approach was so tentative,
Excruciating attempts at scent on the jowl.

The Sheppard walked me back to the house,
Prideful.
I didn’t let on that an incarnation ago,
I’d surely performed the rite.


-More Verse Coming Soon-

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