FREED VERSE

good god girl

Beagle-eared,
                  wet-nosed,
                            puppy-eyed mongrel. 
With my tail tucked between my legs, 
         I walk these streets
         like a dog on a leash. 

Leashed, that is 
         by a mind 
                           skiptracing
         to the tune of 
                    5-8-7-6
         10-9-4
                          2-1.
          All in chords 
          woefully unfretted, 
          yet tightly bound. 

This IV leash drip-drip-drips 
       while I drain-drain-drain.
"Heel!" it cries.
              And so,
              I sit.

The choke chain tightens
from all this barking and panting:
Only my too-loud arfs
interrupt my muzzled whine.

I'd try to be quiet,
and yet,
there's nothing else to do but yowl 
       while I wait for some blue 
            to return to my red-green colorblind world.