10.05.2009 I feel the singing alley cat rocking its souls back and forth on the fence's edge. Eyes peeled back for the blinding white at the end of this dead tunnel; time scolds me, scratches at the jugular gets a drop of the drink to make you drunk. And I swagger like a mule tripping on the uneven stones into your cave. Reciting, digesting, figuring untamed, unabashed, you instruct with a smirk on the wills and wants of life. I receive them in charm, charmingly I coo. Howling alley cat will not sing, as vulnerable as a tad on a lily pad.
