just a short piece today.
there’s a quiet purr, to a library.
that mumble of unchecked books,
words timidly mewling plus
the purr that rocks out of one’s
own chest, from quietude of work.
so what is work? the knowing
of what needs to be done, what keys
to be tapped, what mice to be caught.
and how they squeak! read me, read me!
and how the purr responds, I long to.
first let me pay my fines.