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A Short Cat Tail of Fifty Fifth on Fifth

by  gard

Posted: Monday, January 3, 2005
Word Count: 475
Summary: Hi everyone been away will read everyones stuff shortly. Posted this up to keep my hand in..firstish draft. The form was influenced by some work from the brilliant poetress Dorothy Molloy especially "Conversation Class" (thanks Nell for remembering her name for me)
Related Works: Finale at Grand Central • 



A Short Cat Tail of Fifty Fifth on Fifth

It's as curious as a cat how the beggar is well dressed even though he has a calling card on the ground where the dirty dank ink sends his message of Please Help painted in simple stark print. Either side of his shoes further apart than each can reach sits Fortitude on the left a little Patience on the right wrapped up in cigar shaped tombs black in red grey in blue opiate eyes cast down and ears still.

It’s as cruel as cat the people walking by, some stop to steal a photo-shot as they marvel at the apparent loyal marble of the two tiny cats. There is no response to touch. I cannot see their limbs. The frightful stiff frames sit on grey cold slabs like the stony lions on 42nd rooted to forced labour and there is no grace in fear, huddled-stiff and alone never to see Justice never to be just a cat.

He's as cool as a cat the devil as a beggar his collection bottle crackles as the cash falls in it rattles and the bills I drop send up a swishing sound. Then inside the MoMA where the bright and beautiful live all the people hover at Klee The Cat with Bird my heart begins to shatter, I see death caught in the simple stupid weave of my thoughts.


other version 2 (thinking or removing the cliches)


A Short Cat Tail of Fifty Third on Fifth

It's as Kooky as a Cat how the Beggar is well dressed even though he has a paper calling card on the ground where the dirty dank ink sends his message of Please Help painted in simple stark print. Either side of his shoes further apart than each can reach sits Fortitude on the left and a little Patience on the right wrapped up in cigar shaped tombs black in red grey in blue opiate eyes cast down and ears still.

It’s as Cut-throat as Cat the people walking by, some stop to steal a photo-shot as they marvel at the apparent loyal marble of the two tiny cats. There is no response to touch. I cannot see their limbs. The frightful stiff frames sit on cold grey slabs like the stony lions of 42nd rooted to forced labour and there is no Grace in fear, huddled-stiff and alone never to be Just a Cat.

He’s as Skilled as a Cat the Devil as a Beggar his collection bottle cackles as the cash falls in it rattles and the bills I drop send up a swishing sound. Then inside the MoMA where the bright and beautiful hover at Klee The Cat with Bird my heart begins to shatter and I feel death caught in the simple stupid weave of my glove.