Bobby the cat sits in the yard outside,
with a ****** of crows on his mind.
Seven to be exact,
perched in a tree up high.
As Bobby,
down below in the grass where he lies
never flinching an eye, just stares wishing...     Wishing he could fly.

I,
made my bed.
I put prickly pear jelly on toast,
with an egg.
I ,
get me a coffee with lots of sugar,
and roll a cigarette.

I smoke, and watch,
and write and think...
And I see,
A little too much of Bobby the cat
sometimes, in me.