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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