Monday, 11 March 2013

Poem 2: Black Dog #1

Black Dog #1

I just spat on my father's photograph
I have his nose, my friends have said
I've tried to rid myself of anger
Roaring down the streets, roaring from within
But there is no such thing.

As we break
And winter on stockinged feet returns to spring
The tiles o' the time stare mockingly
From underneath the ice
At sightless eyes

I disagree with the term black dog
But I can feel it settling down, next to me
Somehow my protector
Less benefactor legal
More Prometheus's eagle

There might be, if I'm lucky
Mornings where I leave myself behind
There were those years when I tried
To become another person,
They are not to be repeated.

My friends think I'm a genius
My father thought I was an idiot
They are both wrong
I am neither.
I am mostly nothing.

I am a black dog
Staring through the ice at nothing

Amsterdam, 25th February 2013

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