Strange name for a cat, I know.
She had the drawings and
Attitude of one.

The fact that she preferred to
Be left alone most times made
Her my little best friend.

Four years ago she fit in the palm
Of my hand. The last time I held
Her, only her head did.

No more pain free
Cures for what bothered her,
And yesterday no little black dot

Came bouncing across the field
At the sound of my car.
No tip of a tail dancing hungrily

Outside the glass door when I
Left this morning. Funny how
Two sleeping kilos can

Form such a presence in a room,
And their absence the same.
Caught myself about to fill her

Bowl when I got up, then told
Myself to man up and swallow
That lump in my throat

That I hadn't felt from the loss
Of an animal friend in
Decades.

It felt big enough to fit in
The palm of
My hand.

heart confused with head
body with soul
lead by carnal need, wanton abandon
and primal desire
to be pulled so strongly cannot be denied
'tis not the excitement of the unknown or forbidden
'tis a ravenous feast that awaits, neigh pulls
against all that is believed
there is no rhyme or reason
logic fails
still, bodies giving in at the very thought
hearts abandoned left behind
there is nothing but the flames
prepared to consume all in its path

The Devil took on the shape
Of a city crow.
You should have seen him
Manouver through the streets
On the warm gusts of wind.

Beak silver, feet golden,
Wings as wide as the smile
Of a demon's fresh from
Heaven's grasp.
He turned his head, exposing

An eye; a window to his lack
Of soul, as black as the center of
Nothing. Fresh wounds from
Needles in the arm of a girl
On the pavement below

Were sunsets and rainbows
To him; he croaked with the
Voice of a hundred crying mothers:
Your opened veins are my gates.
Syringe keys and ****** handles.

No single sin is anything
Without the eye that judges it.
Behold: Within the skies above
Is only air, no godly love.

No devil neither rests beneath,  
As blade within an earthly sheath.
Behind this blackness you will find
The consciousness of Humankind.

The crow looked up and lifted off
With a giant rustling flap.
Then, mid-air, changed into a dove
Of summer-cloud white; glided above the roof
Tops; became one with the sunlight

That stroked itself across the face
Of the girl in the street.
She looked up at a passing
Child. One that didn't cringe at the look
Of her weary, weathered features, but smiled

As if knowing her.
I swore I could see the chemical veil lift
From her eyes.
Who needs gods or devils, I thought.
*They're only devided by heart.

a learning experience
- the detailed
timing and precision

- a certain etiquette
in the rise and fall
of hands and feet

i learned the walk
- mirrored on the toe
of a spit-shined boot

shooting imaginary doves
in white gloves -

the proper fold
of the cloth
- tight and taught
with stars above

the tri-fold - not
a trifling thing we're told

the color of a mother's tears
and grip of a father's grief -
the why in the cry of a child

- sad song of the bugler
on a windswept hill
standing in the detail.

r ~ 10/29/14

the archers have their fingers
pointed squarely at the hotel singer
smoke on the edge of their mouths
coiling sweetly all across the house
and the trees will part
for a song and a blood sacrifice

bowed low over a guitar
trying to teach himself the meaning of pain
sitting in the dark of a car
doing his best to convincingly feign
the long-suffering fool
with everything to gain

her ashes sunk in the sand
and the rest went over the electric dam
in the dark the mournful loon calls
as trumpets echoed in the concrete halls
and the rapids will churn
with a growl and the whisper of a lovely fern