How neatly a cat sleeps,
Sleeps with its paws and its posture,
Sleeps with its wicked claws,
And with its unfeeling blood,
Sleeps with ALL the rings a series
Of burnt circles which have formed
The odd geology of its sand-colored tail.
I should like to sleep like a cat,
With all the fur of time,
With a tongue rough as flint,
With the dry *** of fire and
After speaking to no one,
Stretch myself over the world,
Over roofs and landscapes,
With a passionate desire
To hunt the rats in my dreams.
I have seen how the cat asleep
Would undulate, how the night flowed
Through it like dark water and at times,
It was going to fall or possibly
Plunge into the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
Like a tiger's great-grandfather,
And would leap in the darkness over
Rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.
Sleep, sleep cat of the night with
Episcopal ceremony and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams
Control the obscurity
Of our slumbering prowess
With your relentless HEART
And the great ruff of your tail.
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 10:23 AM UTC
I don't want to write anymore
it's getting scary as the land grows drier.
what would it take for me to let this go?
- it's making me weak.
I just want to lie down
feel the Earth
see myself in water
drown myself in sand.
Look deep into the ocean
find friends there
find myself there
and maybe call it home.
I want it to feel like winter blue
or august grey.
But it feels like morning,
after a long cold night.
I want it to taste like 1am
cold, unalive.
I want it to not hurt,
to not feel like it's making me kneel,
to not feel like it'll get to me and I'll never be the same.
I just don't wanna write anymore.
Dec 23, 2019
Dec 23, 2019 at 5:44 AM UTC