Off the Hook

My dreams are often troubled by useless things. A land-line clicks on and off repeatedly the dreamless are phoning me. long disused. I found a kitten in the cold winter woods it died while I drove it to the shelter. My intervention was just another path to its end. I want an old record turntable, I miss the revolutions, how the 33rpm vinyl slow-spins, how you can read the record label from the bottom of a whisky glass. A phone hums-on in my head. static, white noise – who can say? This I know there is no shelter in this world.