The hound dogs surround
in groves of filthy packs.
I cannot say they are bleeding
but I smell their injuries wherever I go.
Their howls linger in the smog cloud
outside my bedroom window. Their
snarls permeate my floorboards.
Who will tame their greed? It is necessary
to have an answer to this destruction – the streets,
the kitchen are in need of repairing. Around the corner,
death drips like a carnivore’s favourite dream.
They are following the order of things,
full of hope but immune to all good faith.