Saturday, March 13, 2010

love is a mangy dog

life is like a mangy dog
sleeping in a hollow log

with hardly room to scratch or sneeze
his only company the fleas
that without even saying please

feast upon his mortal flesh
yes, life is quite a sorry mesh

a web of futile desperations
solitudes and dissipations

and as the flame of life grows slim
and dreams of glory fade and dim

the dog rolls over on his side
with nothing left to hope or hide

and hears on high the sudden scratch
of a hunter's cigarette-lighting match

and through the mist a waning moon
murmurs, it will be over soon

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