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Existential Dread

I watch the cat.
I see its pure existence manifest in every careless
wag of its tail.
I see it completely unencumbered by all of the stow away unpleasantries that stifle my every breath.
I see it float despite the weight of its mere being, rather than sink because of it.
I am in love with the purity of the hawk.
I adore the self-granted absolution of the poinsettia on the table.
I am the voyeur of all that truly lives.

31 Dec 16

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it's pure existence is a story in your head, so the poem fleshes out your head into my head. your description talks of motion and change, but your poem stays static, as if you wanted to hold the image and the cat and the air forever in your head. that kind of turns you into a pumpkin-head, when you start rambling about red flowers without ever even discovering color in the first place. you end with a kind of banal appreciation that nature is fun and you wish you could be as free as nature. next time, maybe write about getting naked and rolling on the floor -- cause, you're 'cat' and you know what you want cat's to do better than any cat does.
 — cadmium


https://youtu.be/QK8mJJJvae s

Nice Poem. Like.
 — PollyReg

Happy New Year! To you, Author, and Cadmium. Bring it!
 — PollyReg