Cat, Coin Flipper

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Cat, Coin Flipper

Post by waytanblee »

I bought some Edgar Alan Poe poetry a while back. Gee, he writes some good stuff. I don't like Tenneson though, and the lady of shallot and stuff, but Waterhouse's painting of the lady of Shallot is really good... anyway, I wanted to write some poetry. Here it is, after about five minutes.

Cat, Coin Flipper

Cat—breaches low, hat slanted, jacket buttoned and patched—telling himself:
food will come, this coin flipping, erstwhile.
The blood runs in the streets this night.
From compassions glare, from hates fiery kiss.
All the while, the cat flips his coin, a smirk on his gape.
From where does this lowly cat get his feeling?

It is night now, and the cat sleeps folded in a box with a pillow.
His chest breaths in the icy air, and out? Tobacco smoke;
chocolate filled and beetle ridden.
The beetles craw through his throat and out his nose, like many dreams.
Spiral out his eyes like staircases and sheet music manifold.
We all know where this cat gets his warmth this night, from the swan neck bottle.
Peace and quiet, vacant as the rumbling cars and his peaceful expression.

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