A bit of insomnia tonight. It led to the first poem here.
bad cat
some cat has got
into the poetry books
jumbling all the words
cutting lines and verses
into pieces
shredding sonnets
the rhymes are all displaced
the meters
disarrayed
tissue paper shreds
are all the metaphors
and when i catch
the crazy feline
who stole the capitals
and punctuation marks
i will say
bad cat
Little spiders little cobwebs
Little spiders little cobwebs
make and spin and weave;
little spiders, crushed to death,
little cobwebs leave.
Do the webs then last forever?
I cannot here deceive.
Little cobwebs blow away
and leave the world bereaved.
