musée

i am a cat surrounded by gotten tongues, 
struggling to herd myself. 
every wanderer greets me disoriented, the lot of us,
pillared by the impulse to look back,
borrowing against time's already threadbare rope.
i reach the end of mine.

so i set out, sore eyed, scorching each bridge i cross.
a little bird tells me to see a man about a dog having his day;
i find him barking a chased goose up the wrong tree.
i disentangle a horse from a cart to get a good look in its mouth.
is it a gift? or just the straight truth - a reminder to be grateful
that this horse isn't beaten dead like the last one?

i burn all the oil trying to build a two-ended candle;
dig up the hatchet when i notice the chickens' numbers have dwindled.
my empire is small enough that i watch every sun set,
biting the bullet out of pity for the barreled crab.

high water hasn't come, this much i know for certain.
can't be as sure about hell.
i try to be deliberate in my deliberations -
to talk about timing at times quite unlike these.
they tell me
a watched pot never boils but boy
it'd sure be nice to feel your cup runneth over;
that Rome wasn't built in a day but my,

it'd sure be nice to build something
wouldn't it