Purple Rhinoceros Bird
a surreal narrative poem about a poet cat.

<< BACK

Page 4 Purple Rhinceros Bird

Ignoring them both,

strutting large circle

around the room, I sat

Bird in Mouth at his glass

PurrEffect moments died

with each turn’d page

as I sat a buried

FishBone quote:

"Patient Pebbles

must be if they

wish to become

a Stone Singing."

Midway through a page

his head roll’d toward me

looking ugly mean like

boil’d cabbage saying,

"What?"

Then he saw

through squid eyes,

and tortured mouth

me and my gift.

"Good!

God!

What’s

That!"

I smiled, giving

PurrEffect little NoThing

perfect little bite,

and it sang its Mourning Song.

The Melody float’d

delicate Silver Spider

Threads in a Sun-Day breeze

Webbing the room in Beauty.

(Just as We’d

agreed. Life

for a song.

Fair deal, Yes?)

The Master’s face

unwrinkl’d

with me thinking

it awe.

Instead

he

spoke

disgust.

"What is that?

Do you think that

worth my hearing,

you lost Cat?

It is not.

You and your AlleyBumms

may think it Pretty, but

it is Rot.

If you want the

thing to sing a

thing worth hearing

make it sing this..."

And he wet-noise roll’d

his tongue in mouth

and spit out a glea’d

HerringBoneRib.

"There is Genius.

There is Art.

Make it

Sing That."

Placing Bird

under Paw

I spoke

to him.

"Master, I do not understand.

I bring you a Gift;

a Bird Singing Quiet Mourning,

Using all the Sage

you’ve quoted,

and you want me to

make it sing

a HerringBoneRib?

Why?"

"Why? Why? This

Cat always

asks Why!

Why? Because!

That is why Manx.

Now Do

it. Do."

Worms gnaw’d through my Heart

In tight slow

restrain’d breath,

like dried rope

burnt, I said.

"Master, I do

not understand.

The Bone is old,

crack’d, white and dead.

Why do you wish

to hear the Bird

sing Remnants

of a Feast?"

"It is not the

Remnants of the

Feast, Manx. It

is the Feast.

>> Page 5