I can hear your wail,
can you hear mine?
It’s distant and patient
and you are my distance
patiently waiting,
wailing, and the reason
‘myths’ is so hard to
say is because there is
only one, and the cats
are crying especially the one
who looks like a
tiger because it’s summer
and we’re both sweating
and getting older
but time is fiction
if you choose to
believe it like I do.
Your wail makes me
shudder, shiver, grin
like the fucking tiger cat
with too many teeth, each
one stained with
old mistakes, the past, but
reminders are good so keep
wailing, keep listening,
I’m all ears and tail
but this tale is timeless,
it’s that one myth
about a lunatic
and a madman who
rocked all night until
the world ended and
the hot trees
ceased their burning,
whispering,
turned to ash
but were
never quiet
again.
