A FACE OF ANGST

To touch and caress the feline is to
hold sway over an entire physical manifestation
of women.
How their ways are minx, how their judgement
is suspect and how their relationship with man
belies their aforementioned infamy is the nature
of the feline.
 
The dog is an interloper.
He is an commandant.
He is indomitable stamina.
He is courage.
He is dishonor.
 
In Africa oselots and hunting dogs are minor
predators.
In our ruinous Victorian jungle they are the
society of generation X.
The parades and escapades of my fellow
idiots are transparent.
Me myself am a mask wearer and for all our  
victories and for all our defeats we are nought  
but creatures of folly and despair.  
The dilema of alost soul is simply this,  
How do you find your way back?  
   
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