Whining Is the Prayer of the Dog
Whining is the prayer of the dog.
If I whine, sorry;
it is me trying not to be a box.
Mayakovsky saved me last night.
That communist, chauvinist, pretentious, self-centered
Lord how he rages.
I have to rage till dawn,
each hour like an individual watch
and all the time that watch contains.
Let screaming and banging and drinking do for me
what a good-night kiss from a beloved daughter
does for others.
This poem has no point,
5:24 to 5:39 p.m.,
July 31, 1992.