Dead Dogs Two - cLOUDDEAD

From the height of the highway on-ramp we saw

Two dogs a-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 cages inflating

Like men on the beach being photographed

A guard dog, guard dog for what?

for what?

Against overzealous penniless athletic fanatics

Getting into games through a hole in the fence

For the owner of the blue tarp tent

Pitched by a creek beneath an on-ramp

In the privacy, of the last three

Skin and bony trees, devoid of leaves

And us undeceased, and with our new CDs

Zipping on dead east, 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 breath in front of you

We secretly long to be some part of a car crash

Long to see your arms stripped to 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

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

Taking a close look at, at what’s around us there, there is some sort of a

harmony

It is the harmony of… overwhelming and collective murder