Kittens, Harlots and Bar Money
Ignored like morning stars
slinking-full in the belly
on the cusp of broken yards
Our yellow eyes woven together
(but not for very long).
Her litter will soon arrive
(balls o' furry fire),
playing golden harps
in the pine brush pile...
Raggedy-damp
bouncing hand to crumpled hand,
like winter harlots
and bar money...
disappearing
one
by
one-
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