Should I be worried about my black dog? ~ Sunday, June 21, 2026

Sometimes, I feel so small, smaller than quarks
only my imaginary dog knows
maybe if you saw me, you would know, too
everyone sees but what can they do, barks
time for Octavius to get his food
in time, I will get some as well, what grows
mathematically exponential, boo
even my stocks are down the drain, I crane
sometimes to see the wreck, how rude

I am a dimly lit light bulb, not bright

feeling isolated and so alone
each day, I dream I could GLOCK out one night
each night, I give Octavius a bone
leave me alone to shop in peace, I wane

severed from my loved ones, my strength so weak
over time, I atrophy and decrease

smaller than dust, what am I but a dog
maybe, if I were so lucky, I speak
as if people want to hear but do not
leave me alone with the dog bones, I cease
limping through life, as if left in a bog

smaller than fine ashes, blown by the wind
maybe you understand, nose full of snot
as the tears well up, be a man, and kill
leftovers in the fridge, and make no fuss
little men, smaller than you, kill the will
eternally lit in others, a bus
receives strangers like no one else, how blind

this unconventional view of transport
how strange, this mind, I encounter, to write
a poem, trapped, deep down, inside a trench
no one cares what is not treasure, for sport

questions arise, is he deranged, mental
underneath the thick skin, they ask, despite
already knowing the answer, a bench
ready-made to hammer the truth like steel
kindness requires me to be gentle
some see me as otherwise, a disguise

only, what is truth, why so many bones
not only does Octavius tell lies
lies to cover-up the whole truth with stones
yet, he does not eat, not a single meal