Engaged In Rapt Contemplation

The hunger pursues me

a feral cat that poses

poised on the breezeway roof

of the empty school of my thoughts.


With paper and pen

I coax the rust and black tabby

to come to me

where I stand beckoning,

waiting for – if not brilliance –

at least a friendly pass

of the whiskers of poetry;

a claim on my soul,

as I risk the teeth that bear down

and the raking claws that carry the fever.


At a fevered pitch I wield the pen

and feed the hunger.

I would be safer with whip and chair,

for the alley cat of poetry

is skittish and wicked mean when cornered.


2 thoughts on “Engaged In Rapt Contemplation

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