Tuesday
Mar122013

Sometimes you need to shoot a dead dog. Again.

Purvi Shah


 

Sometimes, despite death, the canine spirit barks

at your gate, ready to launch a new betrayal, ready to pull you
into hell. This is why you kick the dog when it is down, why you
bring iron gate after iron gate after iron gate tumbling after your future-

clad feet. Sometimes you need to shoot a dead dog, again.

It's not that everything isn't already dead—those old feelings, heart's
       torrents of pitter-patter, the way you melt at her phrase or his half-

whispered wish. No, all that's gone, carcassed & disintegrated,

                                                                                            crumbled & fumed.

Sometimes you need to shoot a dead dog, again.

                                                             You acknowledge: sometimes
                                                                    you beckoned the dog, momentary

fit of nostalgia or wonder. You regret

this lapse, observe if it will bring you
back paceless paces, burnish new

sufferings. This is why it's best to let
sleeping dogs lie—without checking

to see if you can strike them—
                                                         or your future fate—                    alive.