Cat

When I was young I never thought a

cats' sad song

meant real bad luck.

But then one night soon just past dusk I

heard an omen wailing

of trust

that told me alignment with fate

of tripping, tumbling sideways in dark

was in the offing.

And sly warnings from bush where invisible

creature employed sounds entailed a mysterious

lack of direction,

a faux motionlessness of indistinct

knowing desires

filled with slippery

instinctive madness,

a citylike indifference

to suffering yet bound to its woesome

proclamation at insistent behest

of forces unknown, and that this

indigestive gutslack is a kind of

creepy shared ardour reflecting the uneasy

misalliance tween feline and consciousness which

out of psychosomatic misery becomes just that

shared distraction leading

meheadlong intothedarkenedditchofplayful dancingrats.