pain like an old black and white snapshot

the dead dogs of Normandy   –twilight in Missouri-
the dead dogs of nowhere   –empty gas pump-
the dead dogs of the walls and the purple sun-
lights
the dead dogs of Nirvanna   –Felschamp with broken
ankle-
the dead dogs of our love the dead vanilla dogs
with icecream eyes   –the shy plant in the north
yard-

dogs

the aviator dogs the president dogs the dogs that
crawl the wallpaper    –an early glimpse of Novem-
ber-
the dogs that burn the town down the dogs who kick
fourty yard field goals    –promise sings like a
snake-

I was a young dog of 23 and you a beautiful woman
of 35
cunting me burning me leaving me alone at 11 p.m.
12 a.m. 3 a.m. 7 a.m. 2 days 3 days 4 days
my guts bleeding across the avenues    –the swan
circles and waits-

now I’m an old man and you’ve been dead 26 years

and often I’m alone at noon at 5 p.m. 5 a.m. 6:30
p.m. 2 a.m.

I walk across unsolved territories
often getting lost and trapped and fooled again
but you were the first
dog
to take that special bite in that first way

now
further courtesanships have helped bury the
yell

now
sometimes
it can even be summer in Cleveland,
Ohio.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1981
Source
Original manuscript