in another universe, a cat lands on its back.
in this one, it wishes it did,
of life just… growing too weary.
what it once thought was paradise is
now an amalgamated blur of spilled ink
and pens clicking; unearned bows and
to drown itself in the mundane:
pedestrian whines about priced water.
baying baby digs its legs into nylon.
expired bread clips… still clipped.
it sheds off its layers like an
apple being skinned for someone else
to sink their teeth in with ease and say:
ah, there you are.
there I am.
there I do not want to be.
hope is a fall into the moonlit pond,
still as Atlantis, loud as summer,
coming home to rusty coins
lying idle below.