State Of The Rat
It's all a twitching,
isn't it, a muzzle lifted
sniffing, a shadow pouring
across the floor so fast
the eye grabs liquid movement
never form.
It's the blink dictating,
the jetty eye winking
matching chance
with opportunity
to gnaw
at the stolen byte.
It's a flicker, a twisting, a squeak
running flat out and weaving
before the padded paws of Sekhmet,
a phase-shuffle;
onyx eyes and crystal teeth
honing themselves on your pain
baring the bloody
bones of things
just
before the pounce.
May 2023
4 comments:
I love this. Since stately art is so far from the eye (I suspect gone from our time anyway), we must content ourselves with the beady black eye and shrill bite of the rat, accomplishing better furtively than the loftier equivocations. The frittering shusshing nibbling work of the poem ("a shadow pouring
across the floor so fast / the eye grabs liquid movement
never form") still to be written. Eek.
Goodness. Such bold imagery and a pace to this. I felt out of breath by the pounce. I guess if you are the King of the Rats then Sekhmet might just be your perfect nemesis.
Where is the Lioness now that we need her to exterminate the fat rats running everything and keeping all of us on the exercise wheel to nowhere while they stockpile more cheese than anyone could ever eat in a lifetime?
The rat will have enjoyed and this very much. Being seen and painted in high realism. I felt like I was running alongside, line after line. Potent description of a master!
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