big time cat fancier


me v. lacey v. jess

Song Guilts The Fluidity of Motion
For Lacey

Did a pink terrier fish its way
out of skinny jeans to make a taste of
itself? I don't figure in sleeping
and the tongue taste of green all
over our sheets. Is it theft
or people in carnival tents smoking
till midnight? All this plaid saved
a goldfish once. Salt became gathered
while I slept and someone I knew is
a hot pink balloon. There is no
sleeping in flesh, there is no
retreat from half known verbs,
now made clear, and never forgiven.
We flourish in this mess. We make a
joke, push three buttons, and look
at us, a useless machine, broken
in three unique places.

Song of Single Wind Pipe (Spain 1871)
For Jess

We wished in a broken hounds voice,
only people never chronicle the lives
of liver spots and sharp rains. We share
a space of no wind now, no air. Some leaves
and borrowed hands always say you are gone,
going, left, buried. I dress nice for you
to come over. I want to be gathered in salt
just for a minute. Singing, you are everywhere
at once happier than in this minute. No one
has to happen in all the minutes, and I
can't happen in it all, saving nothing,
feeling blocked or sharpened. And no, you
won't ever get rid of me. I'll fuck up your
pretty little life.

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