On The Death of a Cat
In life, death
was nothing
to you: I am
willing to wager
my soul that it
simply never occurred
to your nightmareless
mind, while sleep
was everything
(see it raised
to an infinite
power and perfection)—no death
in you then, so now
how even less. Dear stealth
of innocence
licked polished
to an evil
lustre, little
milk fang, whiskered
night
friend—
go.
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