Mastiff
Muscle memory,
the memorial of the milk from a breast,

the mother is the life,
the mother is the light,

and the mastiffs bay at the lunar cycles of our commercialization -
war, like a prostitute waiting for her communal baptism
into the smoky congeniality of yet another pre-coital flirtation;

we are post-poster-children, waiting out the silence with our headphones on.