Cats
February 5, 2008

Bartlett's decreed our godhead, and we know it.

We are much more than scanters and fleeters.

Our regality swerves around

our very being.

We're sleek as pupils that slit.

Notice our physique's design, and if you can believe

it, the glow inside our minds. Kudos.

The poise of our positions are inbred promises

produced by fate, punched to be activated to act

as a sort of mechanism rightly designed to

demand our place.

We are served our food.

We aren't sent for the saucer.

Myth claims us to be sly and clever thieves.

We are told to avoid the

elderly and babies.

Well, then, don't have milk on your breath while you sleep,

and try not to breathe so heavily.

That makes our theft more intense and not so discreet.

© 2008 Jarrod C. Lacy

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Trading of Hands
February 11, 2008

I am the new stuff, you are the old stuff.

The push and the pull.

Winter that is relegated from spring,

Never to touch sides again.

We will unbound our twine the moment

I'm born unto shades of naivete, and

you are sprawled across knowledge to rest.

Memory will be your only possession -

Mine as my days progress.

Aching, in human form, amasses wrinkles

and grey features so honored if

dishonorable shifts wouldn't be so dismissive.

I honor you, old school. Will others honor me?

Together, continuums to sprint for sprees,

but never for eternity.

© 2008 Jarrod C. Lacy