There's an old gray
cat that wanders the
neighborhood.
Neutered and wild
green eyes.
He's confident, and
thick,
doesn't trust humans
but loves tuna.
I don't blame him.
I have three female
cats that watch him through
the window, wagging their
slim tails.
He couldn't care less.

I call him Bubba.
His head is the size of
a grapefruit.
Half of one ear is gone.
I put food out for him.
He waits until I go inside
to eat it.
He's tough.
Lived a rough life.
I can tell, I've been down
some of the same
back roads as him,
slept in similar
alleys.

But no one has
taken my *****

yet.

where every poem starts
and every ends,
where we are stunned,
where we are thirsty and the thirst is
never quenched,
where there is something that breaks
and i can't bring back although it
burns me to dust, love was not our
miracle but the dying was, the flames
never quenched like the blues of the stars
little rivers,
don't bring me fire to bury me in flame,
bring me oceans of black ink to colour
the night, bring me your love.

We court our own defeat.
Aqua Regia in our cups
Hubris curled up at our feet.
The throne is a fickle thing,
Jesters are sequestered
By whims of alabaster and
Rose crowned Queens.

The King is an utter fool,
Barons are not your friend.
The Joker always finds
The dungeon in the end.
Oubliettes of our own design,
Gossamer wrought chains
Webs spun within our minds.

i am not a poet,

nor am i a poem.

i am not a writer,

nor a book.

i am not a painter,

nor a painting.

i am not a sculptor,

nor a sculpture,

i  am not the artist,

nor the muse.

i am an idea,

that exists

only

in your imagination