Poem

Grilling the sun
and broiling the moon
are both impossible
except in poetry
where everything is a metaphor
and words are held at gunpoint
and forced into uncomfortable compromises
while poets stand around them
and nod sanctimoniously

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Owl Rabbit

The owl rabbit
is a self-loathing creature
that knows it is too meaningful
for ordinary poetry

It sulks in the bushes
hiding from the poets
who roam the woody glens
longing to kill and eat it

It sings the song
of the owl rabbit
which is a sad song
full of metaphors

When it is finally cornered
it hoots through its teeth
and showers its tormentors
with floods of bitter carrot juice

The Starcats Are Mine Now

I have stolen her starcats
oh yes
stolen them and made them mine
and I shall ride them
benevolently
all over this poem

She thinks she can go and
invent starcats and claim
they love her
only her
but the starcats are mine now
because I really like the word “starcats”
and I am an evil jealous possessive
terrible poet

She can’t have them back
no
she doesn’t deserve them
her hair is not blue enough
and doesn’t stand for anything
and she probably wants to eat the starcats
and I would never do that
or almost never
and that is all that counts

I didn’t really steal the starcats
because they were mine all along
and you can’t prove they weren’t
you nasty suspicious person
with your bulging eyes
and lack of starcats
in your heart

This awful poem is dedicated to Sandra Kasturi, who does actually continue to be the Mistress of All Starcats.