Man-Body Dog-Body-Head Dog Head Man

He has the body of a man and the body of a dog for a head with the head of a dog on it.
He has the roar of a steam engine and the strength of two not very strong men
and one woman with an anchor on her chest.
He breaths dirt and rocks with bits of leaves in it.
He's the talk of the town, wears a brown raincoat when it rains,
but he doesn't go out of doors ever.
He dons a furry parka when the snow shines down,
but he doesn't go out of doors, ever.
He wears fake snake skin boots to accommodate the
rough and pointy desert floor,
but he doesn't go out of doors.
Ever.
He has feet like a lizard who has feet like a bear with human feet,
and thousands of pairs of feathery wings
but they all belong to birds so he doesn't ever get to use them.
He preaches to the converted.
He spits and spasms with his mouth full of dog teeth
and excess extraneous bones in his back
that he cracks incessantly.
The hair on his chest is soft and downy and tastes like copper,
but coarse and wiry on his knarl-knuckled hands,
arthritically ridiculous and calloused.
But he can still roll a quarter across his knuckles,
he can shuffle cards,
and he plays a player piano better than you.
He has the stomach of four cows with a stomach between them
and he fills it with herbs and barley.
His underarms smell like onions on any given day
and are smooth to the touch,
with a texture like that of a nectarine.
He rattles his teeth and shakes his baccony jowels,
and waves his little dog arms in the air, snaps and snarls if you drop by without asking,
but if you scratch his dog-belly neck he'll give you a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
You can't find his house, though.
At the end of an ill-marked road passed under the underpass of an unused highway,
with an empty reservoir for a back yard by the radio tower.
It's only there when he's not home, but he never goes anywhere..
He will some day awaken...

Man-Body Dog-Body-Head Dog Head Man

He has the body of a man and the body of a dog for a head with the head of a dog on it.
He has the roar of a steam engine and the strength of two not very strong men
and one woman with an anchor on her chest.
He breaths dirt and rocks with bits of leaves in it.
He's the talk of the town, wears a brown raincoat when it rains,
but he doesn't go out of doors ever.
He dons a furry parka when the snow shines down,
but he doesn't go out of doors, ever.
He wears fake snake skin boots to accommodate the
rough and pointy desert floor,
but he doesn't go out of doors.
Ever.
He has feet like a lizard who has feet like a bear with human feet,
and thousands of pairs of feathery wings
but they all belong to birds so he doesn't ever get to use them.
He preaches to the converted.
He spits and spasms with his mouth full of dog teeth
and excess extraneous bones in his back
that he cracks incessantly.
The hair on his chest is soft and downy and tastes like copper,
but coarse and wiry on his knarl-knuckled hands,
arthritically ridiculous and calloused.
But he can still roll a quarter across his knuckles,
he can shuffle cards,
and he plays a player piano better than you.
He has the stomach of four cows with a stomach between them
and he fills it with herbs and barley.
His underarms smell like onions on any given day
and are smooth to the touch,
with a texture like that of a nectarine.
He rattles his teeth and shakes his baccony jowels,
and waves his little dog arms in the air, snaps and snarls if you drop by without asking,
but if you scratch his dog-belly neck he'll give you a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
You can't find his house, though.
At the end of an ill-marked road passed under the underpass of an unused highway,
with an empty reservoir for a back yard by the radio tower.
It's only there when he's not home, but he never goes anywhere..
He will some day awaken and destroy us all.