Home » Poems » Michael Miers » Wynnhurst Street

Wynnhurst Street

swift, creeping cat, bellying
lightlessly across
the backyards by night

a Cimmerian shadow with dun
short-haired quickness
not
so easily
caught

      along the mottled sidewalk
        the bounds of the city blocks, cast slight
         beneath the dappling yellow of the
                                                     street lamps

a coloring
almost unseen ( for its own sake,
unseen )

a feline faith
dining on mice heads and rape wine, and
long adapting
daydreams
desire but bits and baubles of unfettered
fate

free and stupid to winnow its own blue
ambit and way, its own quirky
arc

blue guitars tuned with cat gut, oh
strings of mouser stomachs and bladders
twisted, tight weaves to
seized and
plucked
notes

( by fingers that once strung the
   bow )

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Sam Toil

Date: 6/4/2015 4:31:00 AM

in the beginning, beautiful night time imagery of the predator on the prowl. ah, but then a turn. the predator is himself prey to humans for their own uses. Since the beginning it has been this cruel way. Your poetry is a wonder that draws one to read over and over again, letting your imagery wash over oneself. Good work.