The Cat, Coyote, and the Frogs

Calibrated curiosity found three ways to skin the cat. Around here meticulous tin-men still look for feelings as on-lookers stand pat. Handing out rays of shifting colors, lifted gaze fixed upon overlapping textures in all ages of the mind's dwelling. Torn pages define the telling signs, reminded in each word falling between the lines. Rusted bird watches the ants crawl into the dirt, as I scrawled into the cement until it hurt. Knuckles bloody knees muddy, head rising, surprising how much is left, all out of breath as the carafe comes to the lips.

The hills closed in on the coyote as darkness fell over the pink and orange sky. Wandering the same paths, smelling feint glimpses of females dodging his scent until it suits them, avoiding all the regular foes, same mud on his ever tightening toes, same empty belly rumbling as he stumbles into his den. A new form of quickness will humble his prey, he must fight to stay alive in this world. Rings of light consume the imagination's concentration, forcing focus on everything outside of himself.

Captivated onlookers gasped at the dancing five fingered frogs, robs your soul as you walk away the coiled mind avoids your hind sight. Like on a kite soaring in the sky the focused attention creeps into your skull through vibrations mulling in your own thoughts. Are they your thoughts now? Or does the membrane of the fascinated amphibians deliberate corralling stare more then dare you to stand and feel more from them?

-Ed Tajchman