Cats' looks are often
in the direction of mice,
it's said.
This transposition -
some brain-stem hope for blood -
fails as a measure of desire,
as cats are equally moved by the sudden
slope or the still pulse of grass,
simply put, for rolling,
or licking underneath a tail.
Why argue for slaughter, then;
there is no ancient marble of,
say, Democritus or some other
molecular heir,
that has not given way to
gentle haemorrhage,
rapid or not.
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