If they tell me

all women love writing poems

featuring cats, I’d

hiss and spit and

scrape their tongues out

for being presumptuous fools

lumps of scrounging

lead I have no pet cats

I dream of one

a cat there never was—

sly-eyed and whiskery

sitting heavy rolled up at my feet

as I type this, snoring gently,

trustinigly —

and a warm honey glow jam butter

feeling spreads over me


Strong as sin

They swim with glinting strokes

Indolent until

I lie down

They don’t care if I close eyes or

Keep them open.

Climbing out, anyhow, at will

Leap to my head, primed

For a night of sleepless corruption

For slinky raging dancing

The beat pounds me.

Pins me down.

My body supine

At ransom once more

To my thoughts

My demons.

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