Ma féline

Cutting press-extracts on the contour of a thin body
I find myself face-to-paper with the dark bodily move
[Of a hole in a trap, of a light in the shade, swinging pages]
Of a sultan of icy weathers, a malevolent critic of our most meaningful shadows.

Standing at the back of a young crowd of one hundred
I loose my eyes and fall into sounds of style and empty
[fairies of dances of today of yore, of yours off shore, fallen]
Rooms of vibrant reactions to the cold sweat of an unmistakable desire.

Turning back to the front-covers of this desk, I seek
Words and warmth in moving gaps of freedom and crying
[the stuffy air of our time, a hypocrite's barn, plastered]
Ceilings of nightmares washed in screams of joyful murders, Dance, Outrageous.

Whatever my desire, your thoughts, ma féline, ton expression.
[unsaid]