DOG DAYS

The days here do not move
they drag on
like a dog pulling its dead legs
and there is simply
nowhere to get to
they just fester and blister
in the fullblown sun
snapping at me
like a wild thing
it's hot sour breath
melts me to sinewy meat
I am overwhelmed
by the manginess
of my poverty
an itch that cannot be scratched
a past that cannot be passed

I long for the days
when my eyes stared glossy
---a simple dull
like a puppies
even the moon picks on me
it's sickly yellow eyes
are daunting
the damn rays from its bald face
weigh on me
like porcupine quills
on a dog's snout
and there is no one around
to pull them out