Half Border and Half Lab

Customs and chemistry

made a name for themselves

and it was Spot. He's gone to some

utopos now, the dirty dog, doctor of

crotches, digger of holes. Your airy clarities be damned,

he loved our must and our mistakes — why hit him, then,

who did us good? He's dead, he ought

to be at home. He's damned

put out, and so am I.

*       *       *

When blue is carried out, the law is red.

When noon is said and done, it's dusk again.

The greed for table makes the greed for bed.

So cave canem, even stars have litters — little

lookers, cacklers, killers . . . Morning raises up

the hackled men. (What's

milk, among our ilk, but

opportunity for spillers?)

*       *       *

He saved our sorry

highfalutin souls — the heavens haven't saved a fly. Orion's

canniness who can condone? — that starring story, strapping blade! — 

and Sirius is  just a Fido joke — no laughter shakes the firmament.

But O the family dog, the Buddha-dog — son of a bitch!

he had a funny bone —