I do not know if when looking upon him
she sees the face of a man...

I can spew out poems
on a white page...

Wet cement wreaks of
newspapers and cigarettes...

Take it from an expert.
When your cat languidly swishes...

When I was 10, my pa
dressed as a green goblin in...

There is a male cat (uncut),
whom some poets forget to mention, it's true...

Once I was a black jungle cat
lounging with chin on paw...

In Spring, I plucked thee,
and heard the wet snap of twigs...

That was not all they spoke of her
in rippling recesses of anarchy...

I'm sitting upstairs,
more like pooling as cold milk does in a bowl...

Sleepily, she trickles across wedged rocks
and mossy boulders...

Cool wind whisks my face
The glass window cracked open...