James Lepak is a poet from Pennsylvania.
Does my Dog Look like Me?
In a ward lay dying
From variants of a sickness
With one name in common speech.
Uninfectious, yet meted
Among each—each whose eyes
Ignited in each echoes of health
Long and lovingly recalled—
As though great dice ephemeral,
Seeing their eventual disunion,
Rolled back obedient Time
Until pips’ proper convergence
Faced up against the stars,
Gathering light in their umbral
Craters, and reflected back
Their winnings in the dark: a blip
Of communal suffering
Wrought together from one and one
To triumvirate all too sudden
Lacuna in Spirit
Luke must’ve thought “Golgotha” too vulgar.
No, the son of man mustn’t be crucified here.
“Kranion” suits him better.
Better yet, when English manifests,
Soft, round, there is a calming underbelly
To the horror of the Cross (cross
Whose patibulum stripped from so many
An even newer tongue
Will further the Sanitation.
Place of the skull it is not. It is the thing:
Dig beneath the mound
And you will find pustules of gray matter,
The remnants of earth’s Old symphony
Of Harmony with Flesh.