by charles bukowski.
in grievous deity my cat
walks around
he walks around and around
with
electric tail and
push-button
eyes
he is
alive and
plush and
final as a plum tree
neither of us understands
cathedrals or
the man outside
watering his
lawn
if I were all the man
that he is
cat --
if there were men
like this
the world could
begin
he leaps up on the couch
and walks through
porticoes of my
admiration.
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