But your hip young eyes; young eyes are heavy
with care for Dogchild.
Hip young agendas
keep him in last place;
appears contender!
Hands on puppy dreams,
tease Dogchild alive.
This Dogchild howling.
Enter Fuckenwolfe,
Howling.
Clinging to 10 and a spare.
Enter Fuckenwolfe.
Release deceived civilians.
I pause and breath in
air of the dark fields.
Dark wheat hinterlands
Wolfe crosses backwards.
Form of man receedes
to the company of
thin fuming wolves.
Mountain mad, barking
the peaks and the troughs,
naked of the guise
forced hip over
bristles of itchy
wolfen solitude.
Strode, the hip piss
sticky under red
sore paws, the hip night.
Drank in pulsing tables,
dancing hordes of hips,
celebrating bodies,
freedom in darkness;
leering nights drinking.
To steal Hip Young Things!
to the dark wheat fields–
bring a shotgun, please–
Enter Fuckenwolfe,
keep me two barrels down.
I’m leaving the rocks
without hope; with dreams.
I'm coming to town
for the next blue moon,
Howling and Howling.
I'm coming to town;
throw my tiny heart
against the dry wall
Howling and Howling.
Wet thud; wolven heart.
Despair in my cave.
Hope I cannot stand!
So, Enter Fuckenwolfe
from his black hills.
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
release mental patients now.
No photos albums
of this young life spread
on proud knees weeping-
oh cub, baby cub
run run into the
dry cold wall of bricks.
Angry cats scratching
and lizards breaking
in his alleyway-
Nothing to point to
with actual smiles.
Some Wolven Lordgod
stays this hound alone.
No paws for his paws
to reach for at night.
Oh cub, baby cub
like everyone else,
now grown, holds close the
random useless things.
Hip Young Things inspire
cub, of cub shaved,
injected with light.
And - Enter Fuckenwolfe -
release some hounds.
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
destroying his beauty with a thumb to his nose.
Pat him platonic.
Cuddle his brown ears.
Can't move without an
invitation.
Patronise me, Adults.
Hip Young Things, see them;
sly brows of dark eyes.
Want to bite that hand
feeding Social Dog
scraps from the table.
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
hand out 30,000 safe conduct passes.
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
hungry, corrupted, waiting.
Takes his green chicken
into wolfen lung.
Eats burning black fire.
Living the fever
of intense moments.
Had to be a dream
of hot wolven mind.
Born in black mirrors
of barren summer.
Born of timely need.
Thought you Hip Young Things had come to shave this
wolfen heartache clean.
Smash in the ribcage,
massage this cub heart
alive with soft hands-
that write, in childish
hand, notes in the margin.
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
hail the genius’s on the bomb-plane work-line.
If you must.
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