The bark keeps squiggles
Like a brain
Wrinkled with age and worn with time
The ants live between in the spaces unseen
And do their work noticed by no human eyes
The trunk keeps going
Up and up
The roots go down and they grip on tight
Into the earth and up to the sky
Where its opening blossoms wave in the wind
The thin petals wiggle
And the leaves shimmer
Waxy and waving
The twigs creak and sway
The moss on the surface
Like a blanket, or makeup
Intermingle with webs of decay
The bark may be soft
But the hardness beneath
weathers the ever changing seasons
It stands here much longer than I ever could
No complaints or fatigue
I climb the twin oaks at my childhood home
The bark scrubs away at my skin as I grip
I feel the hot air as sweat drips off my chin
And wonder how high I could get on my own
A rest at last, I breathe
And lie upon a limb
I’m tired, but oh, I’m here and I’m relieved
The leaves adorn my crown
My head against the trunk
The rustling seems to be taunting:
Can you get down?
It does impress to display expertise
On any one subject you speak on with ease
But start walking now and you may reach the tropics
Before I could choose from my favorite topics
This cat is the most majestic floof
She is soft like putting my face on furs in department stores as a kid
She flicks her ear in annoyance
I remind her that she sliced my finger open an hour ago
Cleaned up her vomit
After feeding her fancy venison
She has forgotten
She chooses to be a dead weight on my leg
My muscles stiffen
She purrs peacefully
I pick a cat hair out of my mouth
She waves her bottle brush tail and extends the longest arm
How is she so long?
She is a cow. And oreo cookie mashed up.
She chirps in surprise when I pet her
She will never get off me
Unless it suits her
And tonight when I go to bed
She will stand in front of my face
Blocking my girlfriend’s
And curl and turn until she is sitting on my shoulder,
Her whiskers tickling my face
At least it’s not her butthole.
Like her sister.
Buzzing critter beyond the screen
Do you know the feline's seen?
Were you on this side the mesh
This cat would know the taste o' thine flesh
The octo-ped scurries
But what are their worries?
With eight eyes, optometry?
Web of lines, geometry?
Perhaps the weight of solitude
pulls at their hearth-strings
A meager price for sovereignty