Frank Corcoran

No bark ! ” I will never get enough recognition as a great singing hound ! I´ll never get what I desire and deserve and crave and readily yelp for and would kill for ;how I´d love to be rolled up in soft recognition, down recognition with Wolfie Good Gawdawg. I am now bloodily certain, the dog desires and he deserves and he craves and he yelps and he would kill for and he licks for and he would betray for exactly that quantity of recognition that a lollupadawgoddydawggy desires and craves and salivates and ruins and ravages and eventually rips himself apart for. ”
No bark! No deserve for whelps getting a just bit of tit for Tat, De Whinger. Nothing. When old Mother Hubbard got there, no bark ! The cupboard bare, pup ! No bark! A sheep-dog that has killed will die, he knows that . No bark! No four-legged chances in Hell of Dawg Redemption. No bark! Happy a bitch that won´t start whining again: ” I can´t get the love my doggy Ich needs, the love that drives the stars which our carnivores ravage for and ruin for. But if Dog is God, well, Gawd is Dawg as well .”
No bark! (The canine is an animal forever unclean, putrid, says the Prophet, notwithstanding his own unwashed desert background. ) Whinge how you will for your hope. Try higher up the octave, artful whine.
Art is not bark, yet consider Bishop Thomas Kearns´s holy doggerel , his EVENING DOG HYMN of 1705 : ” Teach me to live, that I may dread / The grave as little as my bed.” Surely this is not far removed from the hound-dawg´s dinner-song: ” I want recognition before I´m dead! I can´t get no ! ”
Bark! Save me from the grave and holy ! Eating dog chop is, regionally considered in South East Asia, not wrong. But to drown Gawd Dawg is always a grave sin.
Consider: it was the third day. Uneasy the chain of Lollupadawggie´s child-breaking, heart-wringing squeal : ” I can get no !” In the sack Dawg – Gawd floated a little, but then was held under; a hound and not a whimper!
No bark! Teach us to die under water in the sack which the two strong men held down for a long time, no ripping apart, no dog´s quarter, no recognition before Wolfie Lollup Dawgawdawg died; never get now what that hound desired and craved and was drowned for. No bark of recognition before wet agony was imposed, was initiated, took place, was meted out, was covered up, was sold to us children looking for a sign, a dog`s soft whinge or a few last bubbles from the now motionless sack – observing the dog´s water-boarding and that waterdeath, his water-justice and -cramp and -terror in all those who go down to the sea in a tied sack held under water for twelve bursting dog-minutes, seeing cynic suffering and doggerel suffering, and dogged agony, then that cosmic indifference ; and not a shout for gawddawg-lollopy “justice” or barked ” redemption” or snarled ” resurrection ” up out of six feet of drowning water in his heavy death-sack, to be untied only on the third day .
No bark! No strife! No struggle! All manner of watery deaths shall be well! All dawg-tears to be wiped from drowned eyes, full fathoms hounding ” I shall get no recognition. ” – To sleep in one´s trussed-up water-sack , awaiting the cosmic trumpets. For in that wet dream of dog-drowning what will waver in the wave for Wolfie Gawd Dawg or Tat De Puppy Whinger ? No bark ! Mute this : ” It is unknown. And was unknown. And never will be known. Es ist die ververborg´ne vinsternisser der ewigen Gotheit! Do not google Dagawd! ” Down, loppuppie ! Mother Hubbard´s arrived, dogs! Keep at a quiet hoarse bay all little craves and yelps and recognition to kill for and to lick for and, oh yes, to betray for. Salivating, ruining, ravaging and rip apart for. A dog´s life, a dog´s death: recognition is dormition, is all. All you can get. Bark! No bark! It is the unknown. And was unknown. And will be.