Saturday, June 25, 2016

the cat laid her head in the palm of my hand
I was nervous and undecided
sirens had been sailing for days
in the street below my window
manholes exploded
across a sea of fucking humanity
and I stopped to reflect
and moped like a sad drunk
in an ocean of insanity
what makes us, I wailed
what takes us far and afield
what owns us, I wept
this gravestone and how is it sealed
I am lonely sometimes
I whispered to the cat
her head on my open palm
I am lonely and glad to be in this dark cave
her head in the palm of my hand
my step on the ocean
my step on the wave
my eye on the carnival
my heart gone to seed
I write like a farmer
up ending the bones
I write for a cat
in my upturned palm

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