- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Bass Clarinet
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Click hereWas the tone
Yelped from the
Crabshell Ashcan orchestra,
When the usual feral Cats,
Finding Fedora hats,
Humidor boxes and empty bindles of blow-
Well, you could always count on Louis,
He slid those red cedar shingles under his chin
And in no time, shoulders sweltered and all
Embrace, lit by this fire-the mercy of the flame the focus of the eye-seeing each other.
over and over.
for Ange
- COMMENTS
LeBrozabout 17 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,000 poems.
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duddle146about 17 years agoJust another in a long line of Cats both human and feline ~ making music.
LeBrozover 17 years agoJust listen to those cats make their sound; every night it's music to my ears.
Anonymousalmost 19 years agoWe don't get to see you here enough.
*Stands and shouts "encore!"*
Tess
