Quite mad, Kate

Have thoughts like a dog
Pat and scold them
Until they behave
With that desperate, Pavlovian drool


There is no news today
Just stray cats and poetry
And the crisp meringue
Of clouds


If I wilt in the disdain
Of your withering heights
Perhaps you will forgive
My awful pun, bleak and mad
As it is, with thwarted love


A bird will steal your voice
If you let it


Nevertheless, a hand full of crumbs

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *