How Dogs Die

Poor little boy deceived in small ways On his way home the lashes were laid Now he will watch and he will wait for My good face to heal over There are so many signs that I miss I don't pretend that I can exist Scribbler the scribe is overlapped with Copyist the clerk, so lost in service And wrapped like the milk-boy's grey coat My reflection is trapped in his eyes Is this how dogs die? How dogs die I talk about my health again when I cannot find a way to explain If there are words that fit me and you Send me away, it's long overdue I dream of biting scabs from my tongue Waking I find there really are none What does it represent in this case? How to distinguish purpose from waste! I can't seem to cut myself clear I can't seem to find any worth Is this how dogs die? How dogs die