Sonnet: The Dog You Bay May Be Your Own
by John Kendall Hawkins
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If dogs run free, then what must be
Must be, and that is all.
- The Bard from Duluth, "If Dogs Run Free," New Morning
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O, there's an itch you can't scratch in your "soul,"
some blues guitarman changing cords midstream
in a mellifluous shimmering dream
song whose iridescence swallows you whole.
The Lost Chord? It might just be tinea.
See a doctor, but not a witch doctor:
He'll acupuncture; he'll chiropractor;
cross your Rubicon with wild zinnia.
Don't know about you, but pins and needles
is what I'm on: voodoo doll for The Man,
who says, Believe me and you will understand,
and goes, tweedle dum and tweedle deedles.
Now I no longer have any itches,
but at night I hear "God's" baying bitches.
