The Dead

Our cats are bored.  So are the dead.

Still, they flyglide on cloud surfboards

to obscure governmental libraries

to pore over enormous medical dictionaries

the size of small dinosaurs

for explanations of their ailments.

They’re still there at midnight,

wondering aloud with downturned mouths

when life went away, when it hit a wall and stopped,

when their brains dimmed like faulty lamps

and death began to stir

like mice-hair throughout their lives.

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