FUCKENWOLFE PART ONE

Enter Fuckenwolfe -

Release Black Doves

 
You!
You Hip Pretty Things.
Hands play confident
lives on city streets.
Play easy hope with
open hearts; no risk.
Boarded-up dark bars;
hip holes holding no
company for wolves.
Live innocently.
Play beauty real flow
- as People.
Enter Fuckenwolfe;
 release Black Doves!
 
Hope streets on the page
I fold in my palm.
Streets drawn in colours
I hoped to know-
to walk, in their calm.
Walk the Hip Young Things.
Enter Fuckenwolfe
 growling deep in his baby heart.
 
Wool-soft mitten paws
and car key fists dance.
Smile; faces so clean
with expression-
send me back to my
cave of plastic books.
This Soft Dog applied–
denied, sentenced
with a subtle tip
of their reaching paws.
They saw no harm here.
Honest Hip Young Things.
Enter Fuckenwolfe
 had no revolution, war or divorce.
  
Shave Me; Fuckenwolfe, 
fur over my scars.
Young connected things
making memories.
Lanterns sparkle souls
light dark corners with
their utter life plans.
Fuckenwolfe had plans
written in his books;
the stolen diaries.
Now they're cast aside.
Enter Fuckenwolfe–
 cramp in this heart of lamb.
 (real sparks shining me into shadows of mountains)
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
 dreaming; like the end of Brazil.
 
Now stalks here alone,
as a black cloud, limps
on wounded haunches.
Bristle to the touch.
Now, as a boulder,
asks basic questions
from lips fang and tongue.
Hear the bloody thunder!
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
 turn on the Fucking News.
Enter Fuckenwolfe;
 what does fashion mean? 
 He says in his best clothes.
 
Then; Social Dog barks
a bark from under
table laid cool chairs.
Hip Young Things batter
with happy chatter.
Sexy; they're squirming
in their favourite
chairs, they're swearing-
scraps pat his dull head,
tickle his child ears.
Neutered by paws-
that want to teach with!
that want to train with!
Point me down with smiles.
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
 spitting red in frustration, in fear.
 
Paint my numbers in–
gullible Dog smiles–
hot breath panting hopes
out his sweating tongue.
Home Fangs show drooling
Out new fresh wet hope.
Spazzing at his leash,
dog-fucked in the
surf foaming bloody
at his naked feet.
Their Real Hands pass through
his ghost flesh-leaf hound!
They weren’t trying to
touch him anyway.
'Cos he's Fuckenwolfe-
 Archdog of black flames, burning.
 
Tease my leather sleeve-
send me on my way.
Keep their private time
out of reach from me.
But then Fuckenwolfe
trust'd the Hip Young Things!
Nothing his instant.
But you Hip Young Things.
danced life past him.
Predators of cars
drive too close to them.
Enter Fuckenwolfe-
 barks, invisible, at the Mercedes traffic.
But your hip young eyes;