Conversations with the Cat

[…] to charm motorways […]
— J. G. Ballard, What I Believe

today you opened
like sepals open
looks a bustle of controversy
choreographing continents (how can someone so heavy, fat with love
be so light on their feet)

so I told you about my secret daughter.

We may even colonize ourselves—
then with the dawn’s scimitar waiting upon us, where
each thunder has a name and
every word incites a litany…

Occasionally it
is as if I’ve never talked with anybody
my landlords’ cat visits conspiratorially, every night after 1am,
to sleep on my lap while I write

fluffy Luna sleeps the computer huffs my back kills
writing gets me out of my body and out of my mind
a one-man poetry competition filthy full of blood where nobody wins
all about the orgy, surfeiting, the cannibalistic machine!

But last night the connections allowed
no feline habitué, no radio catechism: you and I
and we talked about hospitals and novels and the difficulty of love
mourned the living
till four in the morning then
I opened my excitement, put on
two jackets, my coat and went out

to eat the first the last of snow

Conversations with the Cat

Kandinsky – Surfaces Meeting