The cats gather en masse every time I sit down to write. One by one, they jump up on the big maple desk, and walk across the keyboard.
Mojo swats at Shadow's tail. Bukowski nips at my fingers as they peck at the keys. It's going to be a long night. The cats don't understand poetry or marketing. Shadow hisses, and jumps down. Bukowski gets bored, and bites at the cords. He gets overly excited, and slips off the back of the desk. The wild look in his eyes flash centuries of power and sadness.
I think of my feral days on the streets, stealing *****, and sleeping under bridges in December. I wrote my words on the walls of the abandoned houses. And now, such beautiful providence. I quit drinking and I live in a town with a clear lake. I catch fish and eat them. I've published three books and I write my poetry on a computer that my three cats view as a playground.
Sometimes, it all seems like a furry dream.
Check out my you tube channel where I read my poetry. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2roycihKc0
My new book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems is on Amazon.com.