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I know I can fly
I know I can fly,
Even if only on the ground.
The poor Featherie,
She became too thick boned
To suffer loss or life.
Poor Kitty,
She meowed too universally
To be worthy of language.
And she sits outside
Her French East LA,
Getting used to the horrible smells,
And unwilling to accept,
Her loss of smell.
Poor Kitty,
Lovingly killing so much
In vulgar view
Of those who would kill her,
Except out of mercy.
Her warm paws
Gliding over her surface;
Until some rapist
Breaks her neck,
Like that is all she is good for.
This little Kitty,
Who will live on in perceptions,
Perceptions, which suffocated her
So long ago.
