Poem In Which My Mind Has A Cat Flap

0               a little door for abstract beasts
0              and tumbleweeding questions;
0             for Canada and verve;
0            for whatever eats gates—
0           a flap for for and and and through;
0          for terms like pluffle, skish
0         to enter and pad round rooms,
0        to scratch casually at walls
0       until the house trembles,
0      adjusts itself while I drift
0     across hours, not knowing
0    I’ve been entered, only dimly aware
0   of the slap of the hatch, as if
0  a baleful future had sent word,
0as though the static air
.had blown a kiss.

John McCullough

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