Yesterday, 04:29 AM
Pulse, the Dark Round
When queen cats, shed of inner lions,
turf-angry, embrace their shadow like a trauma
and purr close to rocky ditch between stony smiles:
how can one tom tell-tale of harmonies
different? Frequencies only she can wail.
Answers are not in any square defining,
nor are they bumper-stickered on her social
wall. Once nipple-weaned, genders cry out
blood. Myths of milk linger,
churn, spilling each litter.
The feline brain stays open nights;
essential life is dreaming. Circular square
of angles, its own cellblock, a densely
loose colony of shades. Stray
certainties make leaps for each round
butterfly: dead of its own round.
Food is a secret, scratching all desires
from hamlet stones.—What is in a rock?
Gentle vibrations only strangers heal. Beauty
though it hides in raspy tongue, laps the ocean
free again. Churning teats in their decline,
pollution savory for vultures. Certainty's midwives.
When queen cats, shed of inner lions,
turf-angry, embrace their shadow like a trauma
and purr close to rocky ditch between stony smiles:
how can one tom tell-tale of harmonies
different? Frequencies only she can wail.
Answers are not in any square defining,
nor are they bumper-stickered on her social
wall. Once nipple-weaned, genders cry out
blood. Myths of milk linger,
churn, spilling each litter.
The feline brain stays open nights;
essential life is dreaming. Circular square
of angles, its own cellblock, a densely
loose colony of shades. Stray
certainties make leaps for each round
butterfly: dead of its own round.
Food is a secret, scratching all desires
from hamlet stones.—What is in a rock?
Gentle vibrations only strangers heal. Beauty
though it hides in raspy tongue, laps the ocean
free again. Churning teats in their decline,
pollution savory for vultures. Certainty's midwives.