stray cat in the australian spring
on gentle tides the cat does sing
Uncollared
A lithe, mercurial dream
Leaps and bounds
and calming sounds
your life is better than mine it seems
but stray cat wallows in pity
and swallows herself silly
juiced in the carcass moon
awaiting a friend so soon
unfettered
no stress no rules but no roof
purr for me
what do you see
claw and tooth fearsome but so aloof
in fight or flight outstretched claws
dangling
in the spring sunrise
and dark
singing to screaming barks
thin skin
all bones
jump the fence
to be alone
cat rat
teeth bared
slink away
never scared
With melody she bites
and tender teeth
windy nights
so let it be
springy cat
walk alone
down life's
tuna path
kiss me baby
bite my neck
kiss me baby
with tuna breath
stroke my fur
make me purr
you're my pussy
I'm your Sir
So, stray cat
when worlds collide
think of me
and don’t hide
your hide
Oh stray cat
the life you lead
strange to me
you don't feed
my need
- Angelo & Lloyd
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Twilight, Twilight
the fleeting, spattering of teardrops
on the window
endlessly and pointlessly racing towards their doom
inevitability
a brick wall of a deal--
the kind that's too small to climb over
but too big to jump over...
the last stop the tram shudders into
bells a-wailin'
the tracks are redgrey and warped
a spring not quite sprung
winter ends with a sigh
the credits roll
and the names are all but ignored
phrases only half remembered when spoken
we walk on the graves
of all of us
the music of art
leaps into the mind complete
a fairy. Finished blueprints, perhaps?
A map? An archive
of things to come or of the now?
What is art if not a snapshot of the now
what is life, but now?
Defeated, repleted
and never repeated.
We mutter to ourselves, blank faces giving away naught
enscribe and etch poems into
cloud tablets
and we frown at those who when alone
can stand to speak aloud
Alone, alone
with not a home
something into nothing into something into
learning life lessons from grinning unlions
and unlions over again...
real in every way but the 'real' one
are we not, then, the less real ones?
to exist in but one and call THAT real?
real...
-----
This is just a depressed stream-of-conciousness rant. It's got some good parts, but sometimes you just gotta write some crap, if you see what I mean.
on the window
endlessly and pointlessly racing towards their doom
inevitability
a brick wall of a deal--
the kind that's too small to climb over
but too big to jump over...
the last stop the tram shudders into
bells a-wailin'
the tracks are redgrey and warped
a spring not quite sprung
winter ends with a sigh
the credits roll
and the names are all but ignored
phrases only half remembered when spoken
we walk on the graves
of all of us
the music of art
leaps into the mind complete
a fairy. Finished blueprints, perhaps?
A map? An archive
of things to come or of the now?
What is art if not a snapshot of the now
what is life, but now?
Defeated, repleted
and never repeated.
We mutter to ourselves, blank faces giving away naught
enscribe and etch poems into
cloud tablets
and we frown at those who when alone
can stand to speak aloud
Alone, alone
with not a home
something into nothing into something into
learning life lessons from grinning unlions
and unlions over again...
real in every way but the 'real' one
are we not, then, the less real ones?
to exist in but one and call THAT real?
real...
-----
This is just a depressed stream-of-conciousness rant. It's got some good parts, but sometimes you just gotta write some crap, if you see what I mean.
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