Poem-A-Day: Day 108

Aiy Aiy Aiy!

I am false resolve
squared by shoving hands
forcing a cornered position,
like a dog being whipped
for shitting the new rug.

Iron man of no more honor
than being lost in the rain,
wandering with untied shoes
dragging the last sense
of lacking in four  tiny wakes.

Imagine, the brain working
shifts to flat panel heaven;
a laughable perversion mirrored
of my own lost behavior,
trapped within the hell of bliss.