img_7852

keep on foraging

rummaging in the exhaust
of tires interrogated,

brought to deflate
when the alibi of “dinner party”
failed to beckon
the nods of swaying jurors.

to find the ring
already retrieved.

clanking down the garbage disposal
while Tim screamed, “Fuck,”
looking for a place to hide,
fork prongs bent between bluish teeth.

Cats No. 69 and 70 of the 500 Cats Project

img_9414

outlook

the whistles are calling
children crossing streets
though school already started
a good while ago.

no squirrels today,
but another kid
who could very well
be one of my brothers
crawls under the fence, yawning.

the further we walk
towards what only seems
like the end of an old brick path,
the more forgivable resting becomes.

Cat No. 68 of the 500 Cats Project

img_7878

the citrus patrol

the sign reads Sam Houston,
though it fails to disclose
the clementine identity
of the man who
raises his sunburnt head,
ears that twitch
to remind young drivers
that right is safe,
left is a risk,
and to pull the keys out
while placing a foot
on the beer bottle mosaic
set on the ground.

know that he can jump
like high school hurdlers,
and he’ll treat your sun roof
like an aquarium that houses
the world’s shiniest fish.

Cat No. 67 of the 500 Cats Project

img_8656

observation

chicken bones upon grapefruit peels,
bubblewrap dreaming
bursts into a scowl,
the back does ache like weakened knees
as we’re not sure it’s winter.

my brothers are calling,
teasing and asking
where I stood a few nights before
while they just laughed,
busied enough to rekindle the need for upholstery.

I face the color and taste the nothings
of stale air brushing against uneven paint
and I blink, sink into observation
and think some more about how good it feels
to not wear an old frayed collar.

Cat No. 66 of the 500 Cats Project

img_7916

clear winter

leaves do fall,
a convenient rain
crackling beneath
our wandering feet
and soaking between
complacent jaws
that yawn within
a periphery wild
with plans to meet
our nearby friends
sometime, this clear winter.

Cats No. 64 and 65 of the 500 Cats Project

img_7865

the porch

“needs upholstering.”

    decent shade.

fix it up, and it does the job. we promise.

oh, in a month
the plans shall come
and feet will be heard,
third floor and up.

it is like Spring Cleaning
though cuticles peel
and lips split
as the wind plays
the rusted harmonica
of bad habits,
twenty-one days to crack.

the goal here,
while the bleach wipes
drench the tabletops
and wall clocks
steady like owls,
is hidden within a wall
where the mice escaped to.

Cat No. 63 of the 500 Cats Project

img_7903

after their nap

tea parties.

but they’re pouring
more lemonade
than I’d expect.

possibly, a sign
of optimism
in the face of influenza.

what do I say here?

chewing on leaves
only to grimace
for veins don’t ooze sweets.

I am sure I could
fit in an average suitcase
though lugging’s an impossibility.

peek outwardly.

Cat No. 62 of the 500 Cats Project