Dog on Acid

The world bends around him—
fur stitched from psychedelic noise,
eyes like portals punched in the sky.

Not a dog.
A fever dream in a patchwork neon fur coat,
mid-transmission from a melting record.

Reptilian haunches.
Peacock fractals.
A face caught between prophecy
and cosmic terror.

Each paw step a glitch in the matrix.
Each breath a rupture in the real.

So tell me—
is the dog tripping?
Or are you?

He makes sense—
and that’s the strangest part.

Welcome to the trip.
You’re not just looking at the dog.
The dog is looking at you.

//AKA.JON.E.B.//uncanny