Poem 2: Black Dog #1

Black Dog #1

I just spat on my father's photograph

I have his nose, my friends have said

I've tried to rid myself of anger

Roaring down the streets, roaring from within

But there is no such thing.

As we break

And winter on stockinged feet returns to spring

The tiles o' the time stare mockingly

From underneath the ice

At sightless eyes

I disagree with the term black dog

But I can feel it settling down, next to me

Somehow my protector

Less benefactor legal

More Prometheus's eagle

There might be, if I'm lucky

Mornings where I leave myself behind

There were those years when I tried

To become another person,

They are not to be repeated.

My friends think I'm a genius

My father thought I was an idiot

They are both wrong

I am neither.

I am mostly nothing.

I am a black dog

Staring through the ice at nothing

Amsterdam, 25^th February 2013