Condition Report_FINAL

By Dan Hogan

29 December, 2021

Dan Hogan is Running Dog’s poet in residence for November and December 2021.

Each month, a poet produces new work, which is distributed via Running Dog’s monthly newsletter—Stray. If you haven’t already, sign up to our newsletter.

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I stick my leg out the window of my feral continuation. Time

to wingsuit off this fuck. A well-trod lineage. It is inevitable

the garbage rises. Disintegration defined by a glitchy nod

at decrepitude. Path to monstrosity? Yes please. Consider this extra task

part of your professional development. I believe in an interventionist

Santa. Mutation? I’ll shout ya a scratchie. Everybody needs a small piece

of church at the right time. So drunk at late night shopping right now.

I stick my leg out the window of my luxury apartment and can’t

believe the financial year is almost over. Said nobody ever. Who’s

keen to go down to the old mill and feel dread? I stick my leg out

the window and livestream the rain. The shoe is wet but the foot is dry.

So many things are like an old saying. You can lead a horse to Ferris

Bueller’s funeral but you can’t make it drink the funeral juice. Monster?

The shoe is soaked and yet


the foot remains dry. Explain that one to the panel. I’d like to state

for the record that sometimes there is rain and sometimes I burn butter.

Every horse is a neigh sayer. The magnets on my fridge are all very

weak. Their days numbered. Some people just want to watch the world

back burn. I stick my leg out the window of this tenancy and sleet

dampens my shinpad of a life. Better get ready for work before I get

in trouble again. I walk in the direction of work clothes, careful

not to take each day as it comes and one day posh snorkel. The shoe

is fully satched but the foot couldn’t be more dry if it tried. On my way

home, a podcast to the face. I am reminded how


the first person in space was a dog. Sick of hearing it. So angry at the

sun right now I can’t even look at it. What I will look at is the ibis

syphoning stormwater from potholes at the drive-thru. Another day,

another dollar. My next horse will be a clothes horse. I stick my leg out

the window of this feral trickery, order a medium quarter pounder meal

with Coke for the drink. Thank you. Proceed to the next