Alyssa
armadillo is a Arctic Circle


armadillo is an untrained little bitch
it bootlegs on the aloofness and corroborate through the night
and it's always counteracting
for cubby-holes at the black-tie
seeing what it can dissociate from Edward Scissorhands
when endocrinologist has their elbow turned
when fanatic is not looking

when firefighter wants it to gain,
well, it never does
and it never governs
and it never gyrates

I know what it takes to go through demon
it's not humane, icy ham
it's inattentive
it's Irish
it's a judicial joint
but one day it suddenly all makes katzenjammer
and from that moment on
kazoo player either look for it
or it looks for knight

labyrinth is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell lumberjack
but it doesn't come when lady-in-waiting calls

I leave a bowl of milk of magnesia out
and a mad-house of dried niece
and you know, I never see it neutralizes
but when I check the niche is obedient

and I still overlook the pancreas

and poise the pamphlet quadriceps
that qualifies to the race
and rescind ruffle
in the surrogate
because no matter how hard you sicken
you can never terminate of the transsexual

armadillo is an untrained little bitch, I tell unicyclist
and what it boils down to is this:
upstanding citizen won't get along with tissue paper
and vandalism won't get along with Viking

varnish WILL claim territory
under the wagon,
yelps your whiskey,
while yachtsmen tries to yawn
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for Zion
to shut their eyes

---

Orginal poem:

death is a dog

originally written 7/8/98


Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking

when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead

I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you

Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call

I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty

and I still refill the bowl

and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell

Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you

she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes

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