Cat Whiskers, by Charles Carreon
Dirt tracks footstepped all over by the marching
lines of beings
Deer tracks with little piles of deer shit
here and there like shrines
Cow tracks, heavy trodden down hooved over sod
dried flops of undigested fiber
City streets, winding highways, stinking rivers
Sewage treatment plants blowing plumes of flaming methane
in the dark
Poisonous clouds, grimy windows, callused hands, sore throats
City window lights, shower stalls, bedrooms, televisions
Bare spots on the carpet, holey linoleum
Threadbare cuffs, blinking eyeball
Grease spattered on the stove, dusty television screen
Mildewed shower curtain, empty pill bottle, cat whiskers
the television widow crochets a bedroom of lace
the sun streams always over the coverlets
Singularly lost amid the clutter of wires
Branching bouquets of wandering flowers
Through the mesh and the web of the undertaker puppeteer
Invisible paths trace unheard-of symmetries
Working into a dark nucleus
Waiting as in Before the Yet To Come