iamsaadist asked:
You have a lovely blog but why do you hate cats? :(
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I’m allergic haha
‘Do you fall in love often?’
Yes often. With a view, with a book, with a dog, a cat, with numbers, with friends, with complete strangers, with nothing at all.
nightwalk (my fine city)
*
an amber and white cat
didn’t succumb to my charms
scampers beneath a bush,
looking out for it’s mom
( i’ve seen her );
Bullies are playing on WGN,
i’ll do my best to hurry back, but
they really need to win again
Adventists in worship on this Saturday eve,
clearly valuing prayer & peace over grease
(in the snacks for the game, if you’re lame)
there’s a late night dog walker
taking a smoke outside,
glad they’re finishing up fore i hit my stride;
cause that bass in that dog’s bark
wasn’t easy to abide
a corner’s fire-burned vacancy
is now fully restored
to re-provide a hopefully roomy board
other block lots, look spotty
not so hot, vacant & shorn
let’s get some developer types on the horn
& there, a building’s been razed
at the end of the block
city demolition has always been
tip-top on the tick-tock
a gaping hole to the netherworld
i espy on a thoroughfare;
whoever hits it with their car
will find it hard not to swear
salivating at thoughts of an underrated gem -
the AP Deli - and corned beef on rye
a most succulent snack
for an untruculent guy
so homeward with my bounty in tow
i decline to grasp the key with yellow tag
dangled on a branch, hanging low
on this barren tree - though what lock
it would fit is not apparent to me
better left to some other wise denizen
of my fine city…
peace.
*
(p.s. - we won!)
tomorrow
we were born into a brass plate full of liturgy,
camphor and marigolds. every movement knotted
to an instruction : today do not thud
the ooze of any acid-bellied lemons. shirk
the sirensong of scarlet-lipped chillies.
circumvent ladders. unpet the ebony fur of
an athletic cat darting through your line of ennui
like a drunk cop’s bullet. through adolescence
a deftly sharpened modus operandi to sap
the dawning of fate. conchshell tenets. saturday
evening palmists footslogging phantoms tethered
to bovine musculature, sacs pregnant with phylactery.
our middle-class mothers cramming our middle
-class mouths with chants excavated from the
of groins of jaundiced prayer books. anything
to stall the dowry deaths, sarees burning like flags
of bombed countries. anything to avoid dragging
our bodies through the cooling tar like a steel pipe.
to forget that heart is city swimming in black waters.
Work’s Bathroom selfie 👀 (at Quebec, Quebec)
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bsd_XwzAj7o/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1ln1wr24fgm9m
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