SEVEN HEADED DOGS

in every minute, sixty seconds

seeks redemption and

a clock to call their home,

without that aggravating 

minute leading seconds astray.

possibilities override probabilities

and we are gluttons for solace.

and reoccurring possibilities

never becoming airborne 

while mania begs attention.

dog with seven heads and

a cat's tail. nowhere to go

with this except to the pound

where seven headed dogs go

to blow off some steam,

reflection on all cats with no tails

and  where one headed dogs

laugh their asses off at dogs

with seven heads and a cat tail.

there are folks stopping by here;

many of them thinking:

is this poetry? well, yes, between

picture manipulation, there is poetry.

and, yes, I can understand why those

folks would have their doubts. 

let's end this with another old cliche:

it is what it is.

would like to add something very profound,

but about the most profound thing I've

done lately is take a crap. sorry.

maybe later we'll have a discussion 

over the true meaning of sorry. 

and whether sorry even relevant 

in today's market for more 

arrogance searching for a home.