The fog comes
on little cat feet.
(Carl Sandberg)
Clearly Carl Sandberg never lay
prostrate in bed staving off daylight
until a hungry cat cannonballed
his unprotected stomach like a sudden avalanche.
Obviously Carl Sandberg never dragged
the covers over his head, only to suffer
forty careful, cubic pounds per square paw
flattening every cyst and sore chest muscle
creaking each rib and collapsing each lung
to crush him slowly, grindingly awake.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
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The Year of More and Less
Life continues apace. I like being in my late thirties. I have my shit roughly together. I'm more secure and confident in who I am....
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The past two Sundays, I've gone with the boss-man to a nearby shooting range and learned to handle a gun. For those of you who know me f...
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I feel compelled by the glass of wine I just sipped to be honest. I'm lonely. Heart-rendingly, agonizingly lonely. For many reasons. Ob...
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Updates: 1. Spine of Satan. I have this interesting condition. An extra (sixth) lumbar vertebra. Whereas the average homo sapiens has 206 ...
3 comments:
so true. And, my cat weights 18.8 pounds! Sometimes, I think he's going to crack my sternum.
I love how surprising the word "awake" is, how it comes after such excessive adjectives.
Delightful. Thanks.
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