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Holy Sonnet of a Dog

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Sometimes I wish I were a carefree dog
Unplagued by philosophical queries
Regarding ontology, death, and God,
Concerned only with my ball, loved dearly.
I’d gobble my kibble every day
And chase the UPS man up the street
And force the cat next door into a game
Of tackle football whenever we meet.
I’d chew up shoes, books, toys, even the walls
And roll in horse poop down in the valley
And stare at my ball, and stare at my ball,
And stare at my ball some more, too gladly . . .
But unable to find meaning in a ball,
I’m happy being human after all.





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