book is a key


book is an untrained little bitch
it falls on the boot and kiss through the night
and it's always touching
for bees at the lobster
seeing what it can peas from amie
when patch has their nose turned
when dave is not looking

when billyray wants it to be,
well, it never does
and it never dives
and it never smells

I know what it takes to go through ring
it's not nasty, dirty banana
it's smelly
it's rotten
it's a yellowing tape
but one day it suddenly all makes desk
and from that moment on
mom either look for it
or it looks for allie

can is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell michele
but it doesn't come when bat calls

I leave a bowl of water out
and a jar of dried toothbrush
and you know, I never see it sinks
but when I check the box is drunk

and I still tirp the tube

and squishes the lightbulb toe
that pets to the dog
and made mustard
in the picture
because no matter how hard you lamp
you can never of the

book is an untrained little bitch, I tell
and what it boils down to is this:
won't get along with
and won't get along with

WILL claim territory
under the ,
your ,
while tries to
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for
to shut their eyes

---

Orginal poem:

death is a dog

originally written 7/8/98


Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking

when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead

I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you

Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call

I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty

and I still refill the bowl

and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell

Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you

she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes

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