DENNIS

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Dennis ate the fences. He gnawed the posts from their Own trenches. His barbed wire dreams turned to nightmares as the metal cut his mouth.

He ordered toothpicks that were useless. As all he had to pick with were his hooves and, when he stopped to think about it it was gauze and Novocain that he would choose fit.

He took to drinking lots of liquid that rotted out his system. He chewed worms for soft nutrition but it led to indigestion. Headaches replaced his thinking as he wandered through his building.

“Dennis,” called a stranger, “why are you so angry?” He turned to find an empty seat across the conference table. He’d been working late to cover up the shifts when he was too embarrassed to show his face because of the aforementioned cuts, the mouth scrapes, the body aches.

Alone in the boardroom on the twenty seventh floor Dennis chewed through the QR reports and made a bed to ease his soars. He slept as comfortably as a beast away from home. The carpet was industrial, a nice thing to scratch against his bones.

Dennis had a dream that night of a delicious fire hose. The way the canvas was tough to chew left him excited, so he rose. While still sleeping he clomped his hooves towards a glass box near the water closets. And when he woke he was soaking wet, the roof was like a faucet.

He left his job. He left the city. He left his life. 'Twas quite a pity. Then walking along route sixty-six he saw a sign, like it was all his. The sign advertised a ball of twine thirty feet tall and thirty feet wide. Dennis started in and in a week he'd eaten the whole sign. He clipped its legs, and fell it down, he worked all hours and he gulped it down. And now he's thirsty.