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The Bird Dog watches 
because it is large;
couchant, its forepaws 
splayed beneath it like the
legs of dried grasshoppers,
through centuries of 
human oppression,
and millenia 
of eerie, withered seasons,
it watches with covetous eyes.

The Bird Dog watches because 
it is fierce;
jaws serried with more rows of
teeth than are found in 
the depths of arroyos,
snarls that echo profoundly 
past uncharted cathedrals wiped 
from the slate of drowned 

The Bird Dog stares  
because it's a mirror
watching every move you 
before you even make it,
every laugh you laugh 
before you slink down the
stairs of the subway
that lead to the national job.

The Bird Dog emulates the 
fuming steam that
churns in the depths
of your   
anger, the plumb dropped  
through the well of 
foggier days than eyes can

The Bird Dog watches since 
no one can stop the love
that always eludes you,
because the 
page-turning boredom
that sneaks
from the fringe of your
to the tailfins of your pathetically
dried lips
takes its cue 
from the siphon of dawn
and the drain of dusk.

The Bird Dog watches because 
it does not follow,
and never looks your way,
because it howls in the
wrong direction, and 
never scratches when 
all other dogs would scratch;
floating so far
past a distant, crashed horizon
that if you walked from 
your life today,
and searched the globular 
you would never find it.

The Bird Dog glares and stretches,
wiping the hand that feeds 
it, the mouth that sniggers
from all sides of your undeciphered
it stands up suddenly,
munching a sandwich,
stifles a yawn  
and walks away......

- Paul Kesler

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