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A paper ideology


The cat has his smile
Words on the whiskers
Like traces of cream
Symbols on the paws

It would eat my life
If I didn't run so
Fatten on dull causes
Flatten street prayers

Greenbacks and pigbacks
Pepper recliners
Like newspaper chains
Moulting old skin

Through the senseless
No, mind, he's chasing
His tail, futile as
Hunting dimensions

The simple appearance
Of smiles and lies
Watches me creep
Like old cells within


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001