Tuesday, August 12, 2003


a random oldie, revised:
you are a cat

No matter how many times
I kill you off:

drop you out of poetic windows;
drown you; chloroform you; then
wipe my hands
on a page,

you come back, dripping, merry,
your eyes greener than ever,
and your fur still soft

You curl up against me, purring,
and though I hear it�s bad for cats,
I feed you warm milk words.

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