'08

[Fig. 1; Sing Song #4, Verse 1:
"When asked who was responsible --
for the life that stained the sand--
To my surprise -- 'twas my dear cloaked friend --
who had apathetically raised his hand!"]

A sort of strange and unprecedented gesture goodbye to an animal I used to find a sense of coordination with. Perhaps this is the alarming sound of a confederacy lost. Who am I to say? Regardless, there is now a formidable crease that has blemished our absolute understanding of one another. And at this moment, I've lost sight in your cave of a skull. I condone freedom and an unbound way of living, I just never thought this dog would turn loose. Once domesticated, now gnashing and hysterical.

Of course, it isn't that I'm vehemently against the act itself; I'm more or less just opposed to the pitiful cause. It's like water to your lips but you agreed to desperation. I'm not in the business of condemnation but needless rationalization. I'll keep crawling around, blindly pawing at strips of paper hoping to find my answers and resolutions, all the while admitting its futility. Under strict government supervision, those dim eyes were nameless. With careful and tactical measures, these crimes aren't crimes at all. Now you're hung from a wild hair that's been straying from the beard of the Lord. Now does he tend to it, tenderly brushing it to ensure its health? Most assuredly, He just grows annoyed, fingers the crumbs from His rat's nest and recklessly lays them against his tongue. An act not entirely unlike a traditional baptism.

Now there, are you to lie without protest as you're drowned by the salivating mouth of the idol of cleanliness Himself?