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1am [cat mania]
by Laura DoomIf second chances could be spliced
in sequence, adaptation
flirting with extinction,
would infinite butterflies
tongue our tell-tale lips
to impossible florescence?
Would we come clean
laid end to end
upon the metonymic page
despite this trite untested
methodology?
We are barely old enough
to understand the value
of concurrency, and yet
in trading breaks, we push
our luck beyond the boundary
that splits diversion
from vocation.
In the lap of the living
there is no fur to fly
no claw to pull
no mewl or hiss to mute
no piss and tell to sell
just wishful thoughts
for food; dead meat--soft fruit.
I sublimate the wish
to touch eternity
with fire-tempered
fingertips, by drawing
tawdry curtains, re-enacting
furtive fictions that depreciate
performance of exchanges
in my overrated bed. 03/25/2014 Author's Note:
This one went feral on me
Posted on 03/25/2014
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 03/25/14 at 08:01 PM The metonymic page--where there's a cat, there's a wish for food? I like this, though it seems like it needs another line at the end. Or maybe that's just how I'm reading it today. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 03/25/14 at 11:32 PM My oldest daughter has several cats. I am sure they fit into this tome somewhere! |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/27/14 at 01:00 PM As a life long 'cat person,' (have two myself) I really enjoyed this romp in the jungle. Definitely a poem with 9 lives. :) |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/27/14 at 05:53 PM Loved that 4th stanza and "I sublimate the wish
to touch eternity
with fire-tempered
fingertips," makes me ponder self control enforced only by burned whiskers. My cats and I thank you. |
| Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 03/30/14 at 03:51 PM I read it three times over. So much good to enjoy here. |
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