Stray Cat Freedom


Early-evening weeping-saxophone stories
choke and cry and

(caught . stuck . cheap . forever . repeat)

rattle old, strict, aesthetic cages
like my haunting memories
strangle my aging brain’s tired breathing
into painful death rattle wheezing.

Early evening reverie
spills into a water filled wine glass:
I do not drink alone anymore;
I do not drink at all anymore.

I am
caught . forever . stuck . free?

Is this the music
of my broken violin heart?
Is this the cost
of my stray cat freedom?

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