Sunny von Kriegenbergh

The dog trots freely in the street

and sees reality

and the things he sees

are bigger than himself

and the things he sees

are his reality

Drunks in doorways

Moons on trees

The dog trots freely thru the street

and the things he sees

are smaller than himself

Fish on newsprints

Ants in holes

Chickens in Chinatown windows

their heads a block away

The dog trots freely in the street

and the things he smells

smell something like himself

The dog trots freely in the street

past puddles and babies

cats and cigars

poolrooms and policemen

He doesn't hate cops

He merely has no use for them

and he goes past them

and past the dead cows hung up whole

in front of the San Fransisco Meat Market

He would rather eat a tender cow

than a tough policeman

though either might do

And he goes past the Romeo Ravioli Factory

and past Coit's Tower

and past Congressman Doyle

He's afraid of Coit's Tower

but he's not afraid of Congressman Doyle

although what he hears is very discouraging

very depressing

very absurd

to sad young dog like himself

to a serious dog like himself

But he has his own free world to live in

His own fleas to eat

He will not be muzzled

Congressman Doyle is just another

fire hydrant

to him

The dog trots freely in the street

and has his own dog's life to live

and to think about

and to reflect upon

touching and tasting and testing every thing

investigating everything

without benefit of perjury

a real realist

with a tale to tell

and a real tail to tell it with

a real live

             barking

                      democratic dog

engaged in real

             free enterprise

with something to say

             about ontology

something to say

             about reality

                         and how to see it

                                    and how to hear it

with his head cocked sideways

             at streetcorners

as if he is just about to have

             his picture taken

                            for Victor Records

             listening for

                            His Master's Voice

             and looking

                           like a living question mark

                                          into the

                                       great gramophone

                                     of puzzling existence

            with its wondrous hollow horn

                 which always seems

               just about to spout forth

                                     some Victorious answer

                                             to everything

                                      -Lawrence Ferlinghetti