A Cat Sleeps Curled In My Mind Poem by William L Roberts

A cat sleeps curled in my mind.
Her fur, rich and gray as smoke,
Crackles with every stroke -
Staticy in my dry mental air.
She feeds on what I see through my browser:
Paintings of Venus by Titian,
Nude pics of a sleek young Russian,
For her, the sweet hours I spend
With my young friend from the office,
Is wine lapped from a silver chalice.
How soothing is her purr!
I don't think on what she uses for litter.

When you say, 'What's gone wrong?
Don't you love me any more? '
She presses her eyes to the backs of mine,
How the world flattens!
Not for her, guilt or obligation,
Hers is a higher plain by far,
Of freedom and beauty and desire.
Her eyes are black, their irises golden,
They guide me out the door,
Down the bicycle strewn walk
Decorated with red and yellow chalk,
On to my waiting car.