16 July 2010

Jack Kerouac's Cat

Up all night man
Firing off brain cells
Like they're in a shooting gallery
Shooting stars
Off the paper

Sometimes,
I think, if only,
I had Jack Kerouac's cat
Curled around my feet
And his hat
cocked low over my brow
I too could write
Angel-headed love poems
To the stars

But my feet are cold and dusty
And I only have words
They fall like stars
from lotus footed cat paws.

(c) 2010
at 7:48 AM
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1 comment:

Ruth said...

That's an odd coincidence - last night I felt the presence of our cat Purdy, now dead, curled up beside my feet on the bed.

4:04 AM

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