in dog years

i've finally passed this past year
like a stone, gave it up like the ghost
of me. spending the holidays sleeping in
in my old house in my old town,

all fever and spit and sweat, rusted
throat, hurts to swallow this down.
the dentist, the barber, the doctor
all aid my convalescence. i am being

reserved with my resolutions, taking time
with my plans, careful to clean this
slate right, so i won't let you down again.
the dog year lays down to die, a mongrel

carcass, i shudder the dust from my wings,
extend that old span, strike skyward,
then circle back to pick at its bones
with my carrion maw.