by Tommy Mac
Many years practice of damage control
made it impossible to put your foot down
ever on anything.
It is hard
to talk
from such dizzying heights.
One doctrine holds that hell
is existence without God's loving presence.
Maybe, instead, it is living with God
and you don't love God
and God doesn't love you
and, maybe, you wish he wasn't there anymore.
The grey cat sits on the windowsill
seven circles above the earth
and waits to scoop a bus up
with her agile paw.
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I don't actually write about cats very much. Here's another one about cats.
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I dig this. The talky-repetition of it, the nihilism of it. The first verse pushes me out a little in the sense that it seems like a poem directed at someone other than god. But it's cool. The second verse makes the whole thing okay.