g r e g g m u r r a y |
|
|
When he played air guitar he made noises like a robotic kitty. He made noises. He was a guitar kitty. A false guitar playing he made noises like a robotic kitty. He made false guitar noises. He played air guitar kitty noises emanated forth. He could play the guitar like nobody’s business. Here kitty kitty. His air guitar was accompanied. Someone at the door could hear him making noises the noises that would come from a strange young cat. The cats were playing. When he played kitty noises the guitar. He played the guitar kitty. Kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty chameleon. The noisemaker plucked at invisible strings. Mrow. His fingers toyed with the air as though he were holding an actual guitar. The cat was robotic. Robokitty you know how I like it. “The man made noises with a contrived, painful expression on his countenance.” He dug into the air with his fingers and made noises. It was as though a young mechanized cat had lodged in his vocal chords. The man said “mrow” with differing degrees of inflection. He seemed pained but was clearly at play. He would say “mrow.” Young cats, like human babies prior to sleep, call for help through playful experimentation of their vocal chords. How he picked at the air. He could be said to appear aggrieved while making sad, robotic noises. A kitty had control over his means of vocal expression. He was in pain. His fingers bled with metaphorical intent. His vocal chords seemed to imitate those of a young cat, although of human origin. It is hard to express to an outsider how his repetition seemed mechanized I think he was in real pain I really do. |
||
|
Cash strapped. What of it. The “lay intruder” wrote the most sincere epithalamion yet about the bank blast. Flung tabernacle. Matter of fact had me own foot on the altar’s chaliced throat. Cdn’t stomp for the tea in China. But lefse put it this way. How cd he have just walked in there, black jacket collar open at the button, hair jet oiled. How cd he have hailed a cab with the loot. How adopt the jedi stance. Laymen’s terms? Beats the shit outta me. Sacrilege to say the least. And an apple turnover flaked on the fire door next to some chump change. |
||
GREGG MURRAY is an assistant professor of English at Georgia Perimeter College. His poetry has appeared in DIAGRAM, among other places. |
||
a l i c e b l u e t w e l v e I S S N 1 5 5 9 - 6 5 6 7 |