Death calls me like a hound baying
In my twenty-seventh year something fell off inside me and hit the floor

I lurched.
I saw the Dog.

Like a fat pitbull with huge shoulders and a big meaty head, drooling slobber onto hot concrete
From that mess of a maw--
It matches the wound it wants
In appearance

And nothing about It
Draws me near It

So I threw my lunch his way and I ran! As fast as I could
In the other direction.

I hope we can be friends!