a hot dog
panting beneath the sheets,
cuddled up with what worries
me is a replacement boyfriend
and what am i going to tell him
if the real thing comes along.
i visit eris and the discHordians
and their hot dogs,
but nothing to cradle it in,
no bun,
and around here are just wraps,
and if there are no wraps,
just a hot dog.
Because Hot Dog Is.
And the vesica pisces and the dischordian intuition
combine into a new sign, yet again in three,
one with a line drawn,
open and shut case.
there are negatives,
there are proofs
and there are positives.
and sometimes its not just a
and all it is is a pretty picture
taken by an (amis-tour)
photographer
of that sly glance of a lie
only a five year old can give
and still believe that
its the truth.
that it is real.
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