without a full moon

take this sword in your gut
dog man
i fire you to hell
with the Hades group
of idiots ringing my bell
it's 8:20 on a Sunday late
with rain like a torrent
overwhelming my front yard grate
and you won't care
as long as the cable TV
is working and the air
is suffused with scents of eclair
why have my bracelets gone to rust
and bones to ashes
my heart a victim of your wars
and scarred with gashes
all the while you busy yourself
with makeup off the shelf
and on your face
i yearn to know the watchman's name
and guess the nature of his game
know intent
and kiss true love with true devotion
stop the tide & pause the motion
of the spinning stone
still left unturned
great forests burned
great oceans warmed
beyond their natural call
and so you fall
& i, dog man, bark
without my lover
or a full moon, in the dark