Freedom

Kitty

Our cat is dead. He watched him die.

That was yesterday.

In death he didn't look humane.

I took his corpse away.

Our cat – emaciated, sick -

We nursed about a year.

He grew weaker rapidly,

Shuddered, and was gone.

I remember long ago

He jumped onto the desk

And bothered me. He wasn't pretty.

And I shoved him off.

This addicted him to me.
Face against the wall,

He lay repentant and afraid

Waiting to be touched.

He took permission from a touch,

Turned around and smiled.

Now he can't be touched again.

Unless perchance he can.

ing in the falling rain,

Everything is play.

On the other side of pain,

He will make it pay.

 

Hell

Release the chains and do not care.

Probably they'll stray.

Too old to have a love affair

Unless his eyes are grey.

Do not look and never stare.

I dislike old forms.

Americans are everywhere

Demanding. Such their norms.

People who have been insane

Get older every day,

As though inside them were a strain

That wears their souls away.

A psychopath is on the train.

Keep the fiend at bay.

Walking in the falling rain,

Everything is play.

On the other side of pain,

He will make it pay.
Possibly it's his disdain
That fascinates his prey.

 

Freedom

Years ago when music was

Intended to be pretty,

Pleasant, even beautiful -

That's forgotten now.

Now the Yankees go for death,

Ugliness and pain,

Jarring – that the death provides.

They can't get enough.

“Freedom!” cry the tiny minds,

And slap on more tattoos.

A bit less free – to stay indoors

And never see the world.