Another Thing

They are tuning a guitar
repetitive reverberations
like your purring in the night.
It is I who phones the vet,
an iron filing in my lung.

Put away your tin snips; 
the moon is unhinged enough,
swinging from that cloud
like a child’s tooth.
Just let it be.  Please.

Written for Miz Quickly Oct 8 (Two Rooms)

6 thoughts on “Another Thing

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