poem 440 of a poem a day for 2012

superhero vaudevillian acts of fur, claws and causal hunger

in the quiet

of a thousand smells

your question comes

is life just bleeding

finding worth

squeezing

last drop serenades

from a soul

with a hole

near where a heart

used to be

perhaps, said the rabbit

to the cat

in a hidden crouch

perhaps, you may want

to move to the light a bit

if only to enhance

the drama of our shadowy

theater game

predator and prey

you may say nothing

but the shudder fever

of my not seeing

the direction

you are coming from

to eat me

spills something

even blindness

can taste

I have no

telephone booths

to duck into

no bat cave

or magic hammers

of Thor

there is only

the small garden shed

I am cornered in

with you, cat

somewhere near the door

waiting on your cue

just off stage

EJR ©