my cat's become obsessed with
gawking out over the robins then
guzzling gobbets of tin-stuffed
chicken minced into a monk
fish foie gras—her flanks
now girding her earthward;

whereas I'm now just
as coldly confined in
some sleep mask's
delicate trim bid bruised
with the ****** contusions of
gravelly shrapnel slopped from the
poesy carpet-bombs cudded up over
the sugar-cured gums of some mouth-
piece peaceably positing all of these
aglets and grommets here sloughed from
a plummeting dream escaping its shapely
caul—these strained impressions my
           skull scapes over the pillowcase
           thinner than lichens tracing their
           gilt little black-out poems in petroglyphs
           pressing eternity's fringes evermore

inward.