Lately my words are lazy
Like my two languorous
Felines whose sleep
Is simply a subtler
Form of movement.
My words lie dreaming
Of running. Their paws
And whiskers quiver
Perhaps in the midst
Of a chase. They’re
Warm from the sun
On their bellies, turned
Upwards, refusing
To stand in a line of
Neatly aligned metaphors.
Dirt-simple and soft.
My words turned quiet
And mellow, no longer
Hungry storms of ice.
They’ve shaken the
Rain off their coats
And smell of blooms.
Their nails are long
And unused.
Contraptions for a war
Drowned out by the
Overgrown grass.
If birds flock to branches
Twittering, they merely
Roll on their back, turning
A blind eye full of sleep.
An excess of love
Has spoiled them.
Gracefully obese, they feed
Off the platters laid down
At regular intervals
Recalling the hunt as
A bygone era of
Needless toil.
Aug 15, 2020
Aug 15, 2020 at 6:35 PM UTC
Lately my words are lazy
Like my two languorous
Felines whose sleep
Is simply a subtler
Form of movement.
My words lie dreaming
Of running. Their paws
And whiskers quiver
Perhaps in the midst
Of a chase. They’re
Warm from the sun
On their bellies, turned
Upwards, refusing
To stand in a line of
Neatly aligned metaphors.
Dirt-simple and soft.
My words turned quiet
And mellow, no longer
Hungry storms of ice.
They’ve shaken the
Rain off their coats
And smell of blooms.
Their nails are long
And unused.
Contraptions for a war
Drowned out by the
Overgrown grass.
If birds flock to branches
Twittering, they merely
Roll on their back, turning
A blind eye full of sleep.
An excess of love
Has spoiled them.
Gracefully obese, they feed
Off the platters laid down
At regular intervals
Recalling the hunt as
A bygone era of
Needless toil.
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