Thursday, February 1, 2018


Hail thee, itinerant alley-
cat softly licking,
a little matted,

still full
of grace, still fat—

(there are abundant milkwhite
adjectives like that)
but not

I see you.

I, too, am
like that—

absent not

(though this
licking thing, for me
is a coarser feeling exercise),

royally tonguing holy
sores wet with vulgarity,
these repetitious attempts

to recognize—does that look like 
the kind of 
nipple you can drink from?

to figure—was that a 
shrug, or was it
a shiver? 

to decide—do you run 
out to pick some up, or 
get it delivered next-day?

to discover—what's the very best way? 
never to have to rule
out any possibility.