h-town, my wood floors are cold
to the touch, my feet say.
h-town, this is sound argument,
for which you know all about, you know well.
kitten digs her claws into the side of this chair.
kitten, I still call her, little half-pint.
every then and now, little tuffs of fur, a claw or two.
sniff sniff at the door frame. h-town, they wanna know more of you,
just what’s on the other side. I dare not let it go down like that.
it’s the closest thing to parenthood and they will never go out on dates.
this is a place of innocence, predictable domicile.
here is here,
h-town, you are out there,
the town, the people.
in here, I’m the only person.
here only a few minutes.
h, you have me by the balls.
but for all those papercuts, I get the paper back
by writing poems.
paper is getting pissed.