quietly observing the area within sight
surrounded by the stench of the dumpsters
hearing squeaking sounds in the night
its keen eyes swiveled to pinpoint the noise
in the distance it spots its target
climbing over a spilled garbage bag
the ragged mouse was starving yet
working so hard to sniff out anything
edible which could be its next meal
being quick on its feet it realized it
was being watched so it ran so fast
to get away from what it saw as
its enemy the greedy rat

Today I saw the moon and fell asleep
When I woke, I found myself in the ocean, very deep
I swim above and walk myself to home
Filled the tub and washed myself with foam
Then I changed the sheets so I can sleep on fresh
I’ll clean tomorrow and it won’t smell of flesh
My dream is dreamless, it’s quiet tonight
Until I feel something next to me, it’s little and it’s white
A rat
So small and fat
I’ll call it Cheff
It’ll be my BFF
We’ll fly together in the house
Like ghosts, me and the mouse

To answer your question, it could be I stopped believing
years ago when I sent my friend before the chopping block.
Stop! I'll sell information for passage.
Stop! I'm scared to death of dying.
Where she lives.
Such a shame.
Where she hangs.
I'll take the blame.
Where she showers, even.
Stop! I'll give you the words you want if you make this hurting stop.
Stop! You don't have to crack my brain open with a hammer chop,
you don't have to use pliers to pry what you want from my head,
when you can listen to me talk freely, then take the message and run.
Where she lives.
Such a shame.
Where she hangs.
I'll take the blame.
So much will change.
Where she showers, even.

But if you call for me, I'll be there.
Wearing a straight face that's
driven me here, so insane, I don't
care how rapidly my conscience
eats the very strength on which
I stand. I'm alive without the will to live.
But if you call for me, I'll  be there.
Wearing a straight face.

Life’s an awful rat race,
and it’s getting trickier and trickier,
so forget the woes you can’t face,
and do nothing in particular.

When life starts getting real tough,
relax from the perpendicular,
lay back and kick your shoes off,
and do nothing in particular.

Oh what of the demon cat
Foul tauntress in my sight
Whose reputation for ratting
Far exceeds her deeds this night

Far more likely she, to play
Than upon that one to pounce
She tolerates the evil rat
Within this very house

25Apr2002

I’m full of
mice and men
of this world.

Rats thrive in the sewers
of men who are mice
and soon mice in a trap.

But I wiggle myself free
and head up the darkened stairs
with the vermin.

I’m not afraid, maybe a little nervous

it’s getting darker
and those footsteps above
keep sounding
like they may be descending.

I wonder what will happen
in the dark of my back stairs tonight?

My senses tingle
like a mouse.

We can remember it for you wholesale
once we clear the stage of initial erase
Sure I might lisp on a drunk night,
exasperated and claiming in collapse,
I'd rather pack rat the memories in one place
and consign my pain away to tall tales.
I'm drowned, running down wi-fi 6th street.
Printing my soles to follow my heels
as inescapably I lose track of me.

I'm trapped.
Trapped like a rat.
And he is the house cat.
We live in New York,
which is to say,
we live in chaos.
We like to dream big,
but we don't follow through.
Afterall, a cat will attack a rat because it's a rat.
The way of our world.
A beautiful hurricane of a vicious cycle.
When it rains,
it pours.
You and I are a perfect example of no pain, no gain
but the gain is really so miniscule that this game,
Mr. Cat,
seems like there is truly no glory in winning.
A rat can try to run from a cat, and very few escape.
If I could evade the cat and leave New York...
I have the time to contemplate...
Could there be a better existence in which I am a) not being chased, attacked, or trapped by a cat, and b) free of the noise and chaos of New York?
I have been in this corner for awhile now.
His patience is everlasting.
He guards the safest escape route.
Cat's are smart.
There is, however, a crack in the wall.
But it would be a tremendous fall.
A chance, perhaps, this rat could scale the brick wall of the apartment building,
down 10 floors to the alley and scurry scurry scurry far far far away.
Wait.
He is...retreating?
Is this a trick?
No, it seems I've bored this tired, old house cat!
This is my chance to leave, lickety-split
out through the hole behind the welcome mat,
that rests against the south wall.
I peak my head out of the crevice -
there seems to be no cat.
I run. Scurry scurry scurry.
Hurry hurry hurry.
Too late. It was a smarter trap.
Retreat! Retreat!
His teeth sink into my hind leg.
I squeak, I thrash. I poke him in the eyes with my sharp nails.
He releases me and I hobble scurry to the crack.
The cat is attacking the wall.
Furious.
Next time, he won't allow me to fight back.
There is no point in staying here, afterall.
I will take my chances on the wall.
Out the hole, brick edge by brick edge I cling and claw my way down.
....
I made it.
...this is a free rat.
There is no cat.
There is still noise, anger, people everywhere;
shouting.
This is not where this rat wants to be, either.
Out of New York.
That's what is desired.
The cat has left me with wounds,
and memories of torture.
I will go, and heal, over many of moons,
and find peace in my future.
Run and run and free free free.
So it wants, so it has done, so it will be.