"kitty!"
He calls my name now
In sequins
Like a brocade of sounds
pattering from a single mouth
I continue to lick my behind
Showing the absurdity to the sorcerer
He doesn't feed me; he doesn't know me,
Though I slept on his belly on my first Christmas day
No bigger than a baby shoe...
Damn the cat's nostalgia!
We bore it out of our souls
Like machinated shovels
We live for the next kill
Afraid of every God damn moment...
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2010
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