Curled in the cold
A canine Ouroboros
Consuming the heat
It produces itself.
No pack
But packed tight
The the snow outside
The hollow of its tree.
Crusted eyes
Too cold to sleep
Too warm to be dead
Somehow this state
Feels just like Heaven
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
Curled in the cold
A canine Ouroboros
Consuming the heat
It produces itself.
No pack
But packed tight
The the snow outside
The hollow of its tree.
Crusted eyes
Too cold to sleep
Too warm to be dead
Somehow this state
Feels just like Heaven