I. 

There is always a dog running through my head.

Samsonstrong, compact, insatiable.

A beast of a thing.

 

Tones inaudible to me send dogs to frenzy.

Through his ears, I know discord,

vibrancy leaks in through 

other senses. 

 

In the mornings, softwhimpers for 

attention. A quiet dawn save 

for the tweaks, queens, true bugs, friends of mine, searching out nod or nowhere.

 

Everyday hajj to the blackdesk obelisk. 

Train back and forth.

I am five minutes tall, seated at my desk.

I shrink by seconds, bored and melancholic.

 

I’m pricked. 

Dog salivates at the blood,

ochre stained to the wall

by the sun. 

 

A man approaches the desk,

marking the time for me to witness him.

Woof, woof, woof,

for some moments.

Again, I signal the end,

with the stamp of my 

palm. 

 

II. (Interlude)

Lunch comes and out

in the warmth of the tawny sun,

the yellow tries to swallow me whole.

I want it, forget to eat, rapt

taunting at the verge of the lake.

 

III.

For dinner we nap, Dinah and I.

She, orange, white, black, whiskerfatigued.

All day inside that little head

woof, woof, woof.

Her own dog, 

howling through the nights.

 

On the train, I embark again.

When the doors ring open, a million

dogs rush in. The sound renders

mine feral and furious. The snarling 

unmakes him. 

 

I watch the blurs from the window

with the dog’s eyes.

Disembarking,

the choral growls,

peak into lone

doleful barks,

all my own. 

 

IV.

Back at desk.

Jurat duties.

Burnished sun. 

 

Woof, woof, woof.

Every damn day,

for no money.