Glass.

ghosts stalk my cat in the dark corners of our apartment

every once in a while he'll notice them

with widening pupils he focuses on the void just over my shoulder
where phantoms lurk like the deep circles under my eyes

bruised shadows hidden behind a pane of glass

this is nothing

nibs licks his gray fur in the yellow sun rays
Tom Waits sings a boiling sea
you can match the rhythm of both
to the south going traffic and the rain never came

what if many things could mean many things?

downstairs I clacked in sandals to the lobby
watched an old man drink a sextuple espresso
frowning into his cup
filled my own double shot

what if one thought could be many thoughts?

on the elevator my floor was already pushed
when it stopped I was the only one to get off
I waited to be last but there was only me to go

what if many actions had no consequences?

nibs waited at the door fur darkened
he pushed his head into the hallway
pupils wide looking right
looking left

I nudged his nose back inside with my foot.

what was the world at the end of it, were the days the same for all.

quiet here in the dark,
and the snow,
beneath me,
and tho my window closed, I can sense it
as something cold,
vast,
unforgiving, as it stretches white
over miles, highways,
fields.

my cat won't talk to me.
he slinks under table
to lick at his fur
keeping me in the corner of one amber eye.

outside,
the streetlamps are golden
the light cast through my window,
is golden, there's no sound but no sound,
a heavy absence, a feeling to be gained
and lost. and found and
lost again.

my cat stalks ghosts
into the bedroom
breathes heavy, groans,
whines, implores me
to sleep.
but I am not ready to give up yet.

in the morning all this,
and most of all, everything
else will be gone.

paws will pounce

face in corner
white walls
shadow
light and bent
nose
travels the scent
failed escapes
eyes plot
the trajectory
hunt the mark

all the bugs are gone
been gone
eaten
been dead
belly up

ears twitch
stretch
open
muscle tense
eyes all pupil
follow last steps
search ceiling
walls
rug
floor

all the bugs are dead
been dead
gone
been eaten
belly up

a lustful mew
is a sigh
is longing
on a candlelight vigil

meteors will fall tonight
moon will sink tomorrow
bugs will crawl evermore
paws will pounce
again
and again

leaving the house -- cat poem

my cat's eyes plead
don't go--
but I must,

even if he'll never know why.

In night we are much like in day

my gray cat
is a gray poet;

in sleep he rages,
awake he stalks
shadows, bites at
imaginary objects--

there is nothing but me
in my dreams; my
waking reality; my
drug laced fantasy;

in night we are much like in day,
the street lights for the sun
line the way; home--

with orange slitted eye,
he watches outside, watches
in; ears twitch, tail snapping,
pupils dilate, muscles taut;
to pounce.

Cat Nap

this glass a demon in my bowels
ringing out what's left of my watery soul
eternal dehydration;

last night I carried nibs through
apartment elevators,
like dorm at Rutgers,
cold old unadorned,
headed to concierge,
     "my door won't open,"
thick brown water, still,
impenetrable to eyes,
sat at waist level,
there was no one at
front desk, I noticed too late
nibs was no longer under my arm,
bobbing in the water beside me
head down legs down,
coated in the brown unguent
I pawed at him
memory becomes thin
see-thru
he was then in my arms
wet chewing gray
     "door might be open when we get back,"
I mused as floor rose to ceiling
rose to roof rose to room,
waters carrying us up.

sunday night with cats

You hug my leg
dreaming sweetly;
then you bite me
twitching, mewing

I don't understand it either

not what you want,
or why,

I am here, breathing.

your body is warm
fur covered, tired.

we yawn together.

your eyes flash orange,
pupil turquoise ringed.

blink one eye, then other
now both.

it's past midnight, into new days.

okay, I'll stop typing
so you can sleep,

okay.
okay.
okay.

The Grey Fog

my cat's mrrawwl
from the other room
schnitk of claws on rug
whimper and mew
as he heads up the hallway
full tilt at deadly gnashing speed
his tail like shark's fin
cuts the chill night air
passes by my bed,

he's annoyed it's late
and I am ready for bed,
he swings his head
in wild feral torque
races down the hall
gallop and trot of paw
pounding pounding

I shut the light
a moment of unmoved silence
darkness and barely
there shadows--

he rushes toward my room.

To you, From me

You're out like
gray lump of clay on
dusty bookcases
of the past--this one
empty sad without
any books just scattered
unwanted memories
just things that aren't useful
unwashed beer botttles
torn posters faded lines
scribbling a red hot madness
of years and years--ignoring
the light that dances above you
the flutter and whine
of plastic blinds in spring winds
lazy cool sundays whatever
day like it matters or simple
recognition of time passes
those orange eyes shut
to the world ears twitching
waiting for me rise to get
going to do something
important but I just sit
here staring typing wasting
no fun not interesting at all.

Night Light

typing naked by my window,

keyboard covering genitals

I wait for rain or the whine of my cat

he is somewhere under bed,

the rain is moving slowly east,

he is silent, sleeping, dreaming,

the clouds are heavy, sinking, bitter,

he wheezes, exhaling, purrs,

the night is humid, dreary, long,

sky dark, wind gust,

my cat sleeping soundly, still,

ignores the coming storm.

Indignant nibs

left two windows open

ignored

gray skies this morning

giving way to

rain

wonder how's the weather

2.2 miles away

7 minutes driving

how's my little grey kitty?

what's he seeing in those cold rain drops?

Night turn

patches of bright
color about my eyes,
bed overturned,

things once up
and put together
are down and
shattered

there's spots of
red at my cheek,

later they'll make it
as crimson streaks
on my pillow

Nibs

mewling
gray cat presses
soft pink nose
against my hands,
body sprawled out
over keyboard score
blocking my view,
little black pieces
little white words;

every now and then
sits up stiff, ears twitch
orange eyes wild,
bites my wrist,
reminding me not
to get so complacent,
after all, with such a
wild beast;

little gray cat
thinking surely (I think, maybe)
fuck you for clicking away,
an effort to pay no attention
to me;

licks himself
absently, methodically,
(vindictively?)
front paw latched on back
of screen, straining,
no hair out of place
no kingdom left
unconquered,
hrms and haws
and growls,
low low whine lo,
purrs victoriously.