It’s all danger
here–
this you know, you feel
in the tapping at your temples
the throbbing
in your ankles. Danger
screamed in yellow exclamation
marks against your brow.
Yes.
They say it.
You say it–
All danger here.

The heart beat squeezing
the air from your lungs doesn’t
mean nothing. You
are an indigo kitty, poised
on haunches howling to pounce. To unleash
the ceramic bowl of cereal,
to throw the vase down
upon the smooth tiled floor.
It’s your job to follow
your nature, and as they say:
it’s all danger
here.

But what about
the cat
who
sleeps
in between a shit
and a bout
of chewing up couch cushions
he stretches his mellowed paws long
to expose his belly;
the soft downy fur, so washed
so carefully cleaned–

that’s you, too.
And danger departs for a time
made too ridiculous too absurd
by the softness.


 

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