Move on, we must.
In boxes and bins,
I carry my proxy love
to the Stow-Away garage.
Outside,
the smirking cat has his wild bones on,
drawing a bead on a tattered squirrel
that curves down a dead-bowed limb.
Night
In the lush bush,
there’s something that laughs.
Treed,
in a frightful dream it lolls,
fetching cheshire smiles.
~Move on~
the blue man says,
and we must.
I must.
But, there is no donkey tail to pin.
I’m blind, as i finger the braille
on this pincushion map.
***
Art work by Theophile Steinlen – Chat au Claire de Lune (from Pinterest)
Aremyfeetofftheground 