A

A, I knows U not readings dis,
but i muss tell U i luved U 2 bits,

still do. Nuffing saddens me so
xtremly like dis – Y U havs 2 treet me

like shit 4? Wut point? Y we no can has
understandins? I has 2 much sensitif

& 2 much afraids? I has 2 much
idiot brains? Iz it alls my falt?

Y we no cheezburger can has 4?
Y we muss havs imcombatible 4?

Has U decided 2 talks 2 me no moar?
Iz it bygones B bygones now?

Has I burnt my ships, R my lips
frozen to da pole, buttocks stuck

in uncomfy chairs, paws
unsnug in hooman mittens?

Was our sharing da wickerd basket
an inadvertent cosiness that followds

da randomness of airplanes fallin
outs uf da sky like moths drawn

2 da lite? Wuz da grabbity drownin
me hart in you-ness a fing uf

chancy blinksin? & sinse U cannots
answer, how shall i presume?

How shall i resume? Where is my
bukkit? How shall da spells B checkd?

Nudgin

Nudge me again. Pweese.
It awakes again helthy dreem,

da smells uf happyness, da
open exchance uf ideas & feelins.

Why is U married? I keep your
gift at my bedside tabel 2getha

wiff my manners all tuckeds in.
I coulds so easily slip in

ur bed & enjoy wiffout kwestshuns,
wiffout bad kitteh konfidens.


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Da Sadness of Employees

aint no ploy, no play, no piece
of string. Dey b shakin enuff

2 tear boss kitteh harts aparts.
Dey be apart, cannots talks,

nurturin old hurts, wantin
2 b rite, not quite wantin

2 b alrite just yet. Takin out
da guns, 2 protect inner kitteh.












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Back Place

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I had 15 years uf needin her back,
her back turned confidently, knowsing I hads
no strengfh 2 stop da kneeing in gratidudes
4 bein calleds a good idiot, good idiot,

repeadedli, latchin on 2 da “good”, whiles
da “idiot” infecteds my sole slowli & stedili
til my gait was as crooked as my wides opun
gate 2 furtha abuse, I welcomed it.

Dat wuz longs ago. I is grown-up now
& can has say no 2 dis extreme egotist
pesterning me now, bringings back
dis unnecessri past into da prescent.

vertebrae

. . .

i ran out of jokes today
i ran out of lolspeak

when she played the tape
of a long-ago crushing of bones,

brought into the present casually,
and in such a matter-of-fact tone

i can still hear the bones breaking
behind those calm breast notes

Age Differens

My bodi iz older than I am
and so R my thoughts

I kannot keeps up wiff dem:
dey be runnings away

from my sole, on fragile legs,
varicose veins thumping as dey

go . . . . . . . . so . . . . . . . slowli.
“U luk like Ur nineti,” she said

and laffed at my bent bakk
bendin ovah backwords.

“Da pain is older & reeller
dan U, old lady,” I wunted

2 say, “besides, a Lovely
calleds me today on my cell

& rejublilated my membrane.”
But young 1 wud nots b impreshd.

Back Pain

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Bukkit uf confuze kitteh
neerli wishes, pweese

brings back da pain.
I herd U lunchoond

successfluli todai,
but wuz onli happi

fur U, and Ur com-
painions. U do bettur

wiffouts me & I iz
proud uf U 4 reel.

Da pain in me back
is reeller dan

imagioned jelasy. Da
pain, it tells me stuffs.

Iz der anudder way
perchance 2 lubs?

When U Autum Leafs

Iz unfair 2 gimme dat longs look
when u leafs.

Stops it, I tells U. I iz vulnabarable, allbait,
bossy kitteh.

Autumn is sad-kitteh season, U no can has
play wiff me hart.

Luk. Lissen. Repeat. We muss havs fun
& learns

froms each udder. No flirtsin wiffout
meanings it.

No tearings leafs from trees wiffout
autums allowsin it.

Filosophlical Musings

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We no can has understand ourselves:
we need halp from 1-anudder.

Da closest way to da self is through
da Udder, as Ricoeur said, & there be

creativity in misunredstandings.
I cannot C myself, wiffout seeing

U seeing me, as Merleau-Ponty said,
& I cannot halp involvsin myself

in seein U. Dis chiasm is
a fold in da flesh uf da wurld,

immensli trobblesome, immensli
enablin, constantli craetsin moar

craetsive misunredstandings:
da lost & found lubs uf da mind.

Bukkit of Confuzed

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Starngest fing! Dis
loopy lady is still heres.

Stills speeksin 2 me, as if
no galgaxy uf misunredstood

stars wuz between us.
I no get rid uf her can has.

I can has bukkit uf confuzed
fur days 2 come.

“Ur a Nice Person, But”

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I weekens ockashunli, usualli on weakends,
caturdays R da wurst. I falls in lubs again

wif man-eaters, kitteh-beaters, all kinds
uf strangeness. I pine 4 communikashun,

& suddenly thinks “You are a nice person, but”
is a compliment. Buts, as U can C,

i is xtreemly linguistically comptetent,
& knows wut these wurds mean

in a cat-and-dog context. They realli
is not a gud fing, sociopragmaticli.

So

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So, I can rite no more emails 2 U,
U want pees and qwuiet.

I cannot has talks with U
wiffout U tellin me I is an idiot.

I wants it no more, this hoppin
up & down on the wound U so

like doin; I knows I is an idiot.
“It’s not U, it’s me,” I wud say,

if we could talk, if I hads voise,
if U had ears and if U cared.

Then we wud swim deeper into
cirlkes of slow destrukshun, so:

no point in talksing, sendin emails
2 her highness. I has had enuff

of hurts. She has had enuff of disturbs. So.
We shud findes goodness elsewheres.

No Bones uf Lubberi

Unrekwaited. Utterli.
She has not a bones
uf lubberi in her body 4 me.

I NO BONE CAN HAS!
No candlelite dinnah,
no goings on holiday 2getha.

Caturday passes like an
empti katnip bowl, da silent
sorrow unknown 2 evrione.

Missn da Missus

i alreadsi missus
da missus, da bad

influens. i gots
2 b strong, nots

let her tiny self
overwhelms me so

Oily Eye

I wuz swimmin in syrup tawards you

under blankits, under a cover
of head-caseness & professurial

ignoranse. I wuz driving da nail
like mads through da celing

aboves non-listning pointy
intermittently furry ears.

I wuz combsin my hair
4 no-one I knew, 4 da

voice keepsing yellin
“your mad,” & njoysin

it immense. A thick oili
lens ovah my one sein eye,

da udder non-sein, still
hittins its dream on

malfuncshnin ocular nerve.