the fall of the roman empire²

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

dogs don’t plan.
it’s late, and you're a chain link fence.
dogs have no recall: no active memory.
still, they bite and they bark and they’re tied to a tree,
and you're the fence and you’re metal and rusted.
you’re science, you’re God, you have no name,
you’re a myth.
it’s late, and there’s a bell and it’s ringing.
dogs don’t plan, but saliva is dripping.
yet, you forgot they were dogs and they’re collared with chains.
it’s the church, with their bell and you;
you as their god.
it’s late, and the world is asleep.
dogs don’t plan, but they can count sheep.
with eyes shut closed and limbs twitching,
dogs can run in their dreams;
escape exorcisms, rebirth as shepherds.
in the air, you’re nothing but a sound, you’re a chord,
you’re a ring.