You have to be Deep

to

dig

Deep,

like a well

that

goes

down

into

your

soul.

Shoveling Souls

is a rare profession

because

it’s an invisible art

like the emperor

with no clothes.

People don’t invest

in what’s not there.

Faith,

Value,

and Dreams

are only dust

scattered by the wind.

The eternal profession is the one I want—

an investment, that never blows away

and like the invisible wind

it must be a force

that moves ships

like a hurricane.

It isn’t enough

to be calm, to be

becalmed.

I must know the power

within

shocking me

with

ideas

that

can’t be seen.

I worship the beaten cat

with ear torn off

hit by a car

and bleeding

inside.

When his organs fail

something

keeps it alive—

a style that smiles at death.

It doesn’t live for approval

or need other cats.

Perhaps, nature has selected it for extinction

because it’s too big to sit-on human laps

it’s not cute

its balls are too big

it doesn’t purr when petted

Children stare at it

in prehistoric picture books

It walks in the moonlight

and the firelight

It walks wherever it wants

It’s valuable, for its diamond eyes

It’s wilder

than anything.

That’s why nature knew it was a contender

and tried to knock it out

in the first round

but it goes the distance, anyway.

How does a cat like that

come back

from a beating like that?

What keeps you alive?

Your heart.

How do you know?

Your mind.

The beaten cat lives forever

because it hunts the human soul.