i)
You are the pet i crave
You do as you are told
You slap me when i need it
     not in a physical sense
       but your rebuke centres me.
You come when called
You know how to lie at you
     master's feet,
       everguarding and serene

You are everything i cannot be

and
     the worst part is

you aren't real.

ii)
i think less of myself
for feeling a need
as crass as
dominance,
almost to the
point of questioning
whether the part of me
that is supposed to
be masculine is broken
in some way.

i loathe the
  swept blond hair
  buff physique
    and the attitudes
they typically endow upon
a man
arrogance, conceit,
territoriality, dominance,
subjugation, genocide.

iii)
i am ashamed to call myself a man.

surely we are not just this,
ants milling about a colony.
there must be a better way,
a way to release the masses
from corporate bondage,
for the betterment of all,
no regard for money.

iv)
but that cannot account for
the mockery erupting unbidden
from deep and perhaps
not so deep

as wonderful as it is to dream
it is better to wake and live.

that is not a romantic sentiment.
wake the FUCK up.

v)
swirling psychoses
and the closing noose of a deadline
wistful concern for my mate,
     off doing her own thing
bemusement at lip-synched
  clippity-clap
stage props for the vid-screen
concern for a tardy visitor

my head swirls with free-floating
concern, no escape, not in
my world

and that is a steep price to pay