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a journal of literature & art

The Literary Review

Issue 10         Page 107

When Kittens Perturb, and the Forms They Are Kittens

I say insufferable are

the commotions of two cats

when you are sleeping

and yet so darling-playful

with a bumble-rumble

of biz and flicking what gives

energetically the fleeing light

of night-slammers, patty-whammers.

I say insufferable are

the commotions of two cats

but it is not all that

it’s a hat and a bat

out of lick ’emeums rappity-prat.

I say insufferable are

the commotions of two cats

and you can fling ’em and wing ’em

and sling ’em

and you can wriggle ’em to bring ’em

if you’re party to lamb-lap

if you want to squiggle a gap

if you want to be like mustering

tree-sap of a compendium

be-snookered and be-smeckered and be-kempt.

I think they are plenty

insufferable these two cats

except if they be prancing

except if they be lancing

the unconventional piloting kites

of plucks camping all right

yes they are all quite like stuffing

me-me-moozled in Plotsch-Roughing their gambols

their fluffable, cuffed snatcheling

or singing or come-catch-me, come king;

their sniffling snuffling sniggling

come come catch me pleading singing

their nigh-crisps of huffy puffy middle-night

commotions of two cats emotions

split-splat take-a-lap.

First Printed in Ink Node: Robert Mueller, "When Kittens Perturb, and the Forms They Are Kittens"

Titmouse Heard This

It takes the tunny of tentacled time,

how do you know that now you do.

Cats being mine always frou-frou

I gallivant a shoe for these Dixie

and bamboosh queer sassafras

in that tunnels quarrel when squashed.

Freezing, do you spike lots?

Character emits tarantula and

the spots are emplastic cushion

and aviary. Tucksed these to flassy

beads, countenance humbling, stream

to the darkest days in plesaunce.

Owls refigured mount

burp-riddling squeezies in baubs of tawdry

molds, count these all, well, callipered.

Stucks of jaw-elates treating in-scaping

miles crating, bopped of jails

of bunnies, a mansion a sued squire.

My Tire, my Egg and My Floppins.

My Uppity Engine to the fearsome crisp.

And smiles twitch to lithesome clock

be around soothingly the trap

the Minos the Bull the Old-Wick

cheer-Funny, un-fun plastical

arrangement, to the tree snitch

be blithely bun to nearly mickle moon,

be saccharina Trial Studium a punked, agile Loom.

© Lynn Marrapodi: The Storm2
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