Tether

Cast free in tatters under the sun,
she is a useful, but uneasy removal,
still under watch by her masters,
a tracked and branded captive.
Only a short fall into an intricate rotting garden,
clogged with ravelings of quarreling operas,
saturated in one vast neurotic sonnet.
Alcohol greased sanctioned marauding poachers,
formulate and dispense enticing bracelets,
for a romance among greedy twisted suitors.
Softly applauding the ritualized harassment,
she summarizes the last few beatings,
mentioned in the resistance’s unpleasant crime revue.

An appointment every afternoon,
near a wickedly vandalized playground,
blocked by its cage of trees,
with a charming manacled gate.
She still had to risk having a laugh,
while camping on this moorish tracked pasture,
enjoying a moment in these long yards of sadness.
Ashes blow through the injured hanging branches,
and coarse shadows angle just as quickly,
across the amassed curtain of dead plantings.
Crumpled wrappers of fuming traffic,
form antiquated gangs bound in a blotchy rolling ladder,
choking on immense antlers of molasses.

Heading now towards her squatting,
the peepers adopt a relaxed sequence,
as lights streak over the passage,
settling in with other rats.
She frailly sings in watchful passing,
listening to a troubled minister confront his products,
spitting some deeply contorted doctrine.
Climbs the last steps darting to the prison,
keys around her chalked neck jingling,
not in the position to manually change this witness.
Inside this dismal marsh she lodges,
closing as an unwelcomed lone partner,
decidedly unaided with room for pity or sorrow.