Short Poem: “Cur”

I must have written this in about 1986 or 1987, when I was living in Hoboken, NJ.  I can’t believe how old some of these are!

Cur

In syllables the dreamed

dog whined, paw down

my dress or following, faithless,

down and up the path of mud

and pine.  Dog of a dozen

 

mistresses, dogseed spilled

outside a dozen or more

houses, dog loping, fagged,

triumphing, drunk on blood

wine home.  Freezetag dawn

gives up the run.

 

Frail scent suggesting what’s

been done, his hollow

in the mattress.  Light.  Hope

for black, lie flat, await God’s handless

wry caress.

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