my cat

my dream cat
would live in the window box
and stare out at all the other cats
and the humans
as we all swam around in the fish bowl of life
he would dream he could drop his paw in
and flick us out onto the carpet
where he would watch us flitter and spasm
for amusement
but nothing would ruffle his perfect fur
except for an imperfect pat
for my dream cat

my actual cat
has an unusual aroma
from the dung he rolls in
but he likes being washed which is a bit weird for a cat
he often runs away when i enter the room
like he's been up to mischief
and purrs like a lancaster bomber
at irritating hours of the morning
his long fur quickly forms dreadlocks
and collects slugs and grass seeds
like christmas baubels and tat
that's my actual cat

closm

prescient impressions
of you
closed, jammed, into my skull
locked there for weeks
like knotted weeds nesting
growing a compact root ball
increasing daily the tension
till a crack, a little sound
a clock ticking
or a ships rigging snap
marks a tidal shift
then - PLOSION!!

you are all over the place
all over my life, my face
the mess in my notebooks is
full of you, i am breathing
in time with your breathing
there is nothing left
of my brain my skull
just bits and pieces
of broken flowerpots
and messy roots and soil
and tangled blue flowers

i wonder at the hours
till dawn
the grate crackling
my head full of fire
bombed with visions unending modulating
parachuting down
to be lanced on a pulsating
tremulous quill end
and i rock with my head in my hands
through the hours
till the cool grey light of dawn