Of Cats And Octopi
Stephanie Arwen Lynch
Curiosity slithers behind my walls.
Testing for fractures in the brick.
Cement laid in against a miracle
That a spark might fascinate the cat
I donīt want to die that death again.
Buddha cut his sleeve for that cat,
Sleeping feather-soft in the sun.
Not the most practical of approaches.
Love so strong you would ruin for it.
I donīt want to be ruined again.
Like tenacious tentacles thereīs suction
Drawing me out of my safety zone.
Scraping me against plaster, mud, cement.
Like the most intelligent of octopi,
Iīd rather cover myself in invisible ink.
You see, I know this Star Chamber secret.
The incompatibility of cats and that octopus.
Itīs been pounded into my skin, my skull.
My soul shrieks in nightmare terror.
I canīt let myself ever love again.