If you only
but knew! how—profound
and authentic-
ally I hear you—a sorry lame
pack
of dull insolent pitches—
claptrapping
down
past that
rattling heat machine
thing in the hall—and then
confounding up
some rickety laminate
zigzag of ground
every morning—hounding
like you do—for brown water
and wet food
and a little light
banter—by the clickclacking
faucets
latches
and switches—presumably concerning
wherever
the selfsame noisy
hell in the world it is you're going—
without ever even
so much
as offering—to take your good old dog.
