O' master, god all-taking, your servant has been
licking your shoes [again].

in cowering by your gold-shackled ankles, he
bays like his brothers and
whimpers like the pungent quims of his sisters -aspiring-
shellfish-hopeful that his saliva holds the
circumstantial cure.

I was there too, your right shoelace, as an atavistic
chord of unpronounced fate, having been
passed down in a matrilineal fashion until
given to you.

Sirius, dog-martyrstar, how man pigs ears would you gladly
swallow whole in your undivided
eagerness? If you were an egg
you would have just a mouth enough
for that.

In battle, in the throes of
truculent arraignment, he becomes an
Achilles--- a sulking almost-god, a filling
dose of potential and abject disappointment
whose tackled hounds chase quixotically
those silver-winged messages from the masterful
God All-Taking.