Dog

“Like everything metaphysical the harmony between thought and reality is to be found in the grammar of the language. “ -----Ludwig Wittgenstein

There is a dog lying on the café floor
If it could be called a café, adobe walled
Haven of tobacco and sweet scented smoke.
More like a den.

The dog curled up on the ground tied to
A café table with electrical cord.
He waits pouting. This is the land of
Do it your self, of makeshift creations.
The similarities between a rope and electrical-
Cord far out weigh their dissimilarities

This is a place of confusion, mixes up identities
A place were things aren’t themselves
And nepotism poisons the relations of language.