Snips and Puppy-Dog Tails
A brown, bristle of fur
Crumples under Filth and Decay.
Soiled, greasy cardboard
Slung around castaway collars
Ignorantly bustle by,
Leaving you lying in inky smutch
Grudgingly halted
On the parking lot of Disrepair.
A replaceable runt.
Within the hazy gloom,
An unnatural soft sky-blue blank stare of lost hope
Frosted by Cold’s long finger
Casts itself on a passerby.
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