there's not much i 
can do today
the life of an old cat 
in an old high rise 

sit here 
with cats purring
feet pining 
thinking
each new layer of skin regenerates
each tender generation 
tenderly cracks
before you know it
below the sound
each generation dies 

the seven-fold way
seven layers, seven days
seven points of energy 
emanate
upward notes
evanesce
into dust motes
migrating
by wind
into cloud 
into sky.


i get up, the motion cracks my sole again, it's weak terrifying, skin. try to make a poem 
out of this cry.