March 15, 2007 at 2:35am (Poetry)

The Black Dog

sniffs at my heels

and snarls

too softly for comfort.

Black Dog, go home.

Go home!

                  I call upon

your master

to call you


           O master of the Black Dog,

call your Black Dog home.

Call it off, call it home,

this Black Dog of yours

sniffing at my heels

and snarling softly

at my heels,

too softly for comfort.

          “I will strike your heel,”

the Black Dog says;

says the big Black Dog

sniffing at my heel;

          “And I will crush your head,”

says I to him who, poised to strike my heel,

hears his master’s voice afar off snarling,

Strike! Strike! Strike!

Strike the bloody goddamned kike!

Strike until his blood runs red.

That was what it said,

the Master said,

as it struck my heel

and I crushed its head

and our blood ran red

          so early in the morning.

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