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| Page 2 of Purple Rhinoceros Bird |
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| The Rhino trample danced |
| the FishBones to Dust and |
| deep lung breath Blew the Dust |
| swirling OneEar’s StarryNight. |
| |
| The Rhino look’d to me |
| in a freeze, wink’d, smirk’d |
| and giggle-skip’d away |
| on top of the Blue, |
| |
| singing |
| silly |
| Kitten |
| NonSense, |
| |
| "Green CatTails |
| Bury There |
| Bones To |
| Find their Home |
| Tea |
| Find their Om |
| |
| So |
| Wrinkle your Nose |
| Lick your Toes |
| and |
| Bury your Bones |
| Berry your Om’s." |
| |
| I purr’d |
| "What a Bird!" |
| "What a Bird!" |
| "What a Bird!" |
| |
| Its tracks glow’d |
| Lime on Blue |
| Unfold’d. I |
| follow’d. They |
| |
| faded. I |
| stumbled on some |
| tentacle thing |
| tongueing around. |
| |
| I woke knot’d in |
| silk sheets, laying on |
| a Lounge in a room |
| full of Art and Books. |
| |
| In a mirror glass |
| I found my head wrap’d in |
| white and through a |
| hall walk’d a Master. |
| |
| "Good. You live." |
| He said in the same |
| voice which said, "Poor thing." |
| I MeYelp’d. |
| |
| His Voice |
| spoke SoftKind |
| Comfortable |
| as it |
| |
| explain’d how the Master |
| found me, and brought me |
| home, and how if I want’d, |
| I could be a Found Cat. |
| |
| The word ‘Found’ |
| seem’d warm, sincere, |
| something good |
| to be part of. |
| |
| Not wanting to be lost |
| and badly damaged |
| by the Sharks, |
| I accept’d. |
| |
| For Fish he |
| fed art and |
| opinions, |
| quoting Sage: |
| |
| "Turn over Your memories |
| and Wash ‘way the Blood |
| on the Stone You |
| Bludgeoned Able with." |
| |
| For Day’s |
| Day and a Month’s |
| Month I listen’d |
| and fed. |
| |
| I felt in- |
| Love the night |
| we drank coffee |
| when I ask’d |
| |
| "Why did OneEar |
| Shoot his heart?" |
| |
| and he answer’d |
| |
| "Because his inept hands |
| could not paint what he Heard." |
| |
| Over and Over |
| he unravel’d mysteries of Art |
| and suggest’d readings of worth |
| and caused in me understanding |
| |
| of how best to say |
| what need be said |
| without Killing it |
| in my CatTeeth. |
| |
| Feeling full from |
| his words and wisdom, |
| at night on the Fence |
| I would Purr his |
| |
| educated face |
| to the other Strays |
| who all said the same, |
| "Fine Fat Fish for You!" |
| |
| In our usual odd hour |
| I would return to his |
| presence, begging more |
| of his Kind gestures. |
| |
| Often as I sat |
| knitting his leg |
| Purring my questions |
| he would roll with |
| >> Page 3 |
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Spoken Word 
