02/10/2026
The cat doesn’t owe you s**t.
He’s a Zen monk with guerrilla claws,
a stretch of open road under neon lights,
a drunk made of light, pi***ng on middle-class certainties.
He looks at you with eyes like a black hole:
distant galaxies and a purr as heavy as a funk bassline
that splits your chest wide open.
J
Love, to him, is no chain,
no marriage contract:
it’s a state of matter, a beat of wings.
Suddenly he’s there, warm, vibrating,
a pure, merciless combustion engine of affection.
And the next moment… Boom. Gone.
Off minding his own business in another dimension,
searching for the secret meaning of things
above the rooftops of the world.
He leaves you staring at the empty space on the sofa,
with a certainty that cuts right through you:
I come looking for you, but you’re already in another century.
A spaceship of fur and mystery,
a pocket-sized god who couldn’t give a f**k
about your performance anxiety.
The only truly free thing in this concrete cage.
He loves you when he decides to,
passes through your soul like a sharp, exquisite gust of wind,
then leaves you standing there—
with that look of a ruler of nothingness—
to remind you that true love cannot be owned:
it pierces you, tears you apart,
and moves on to explore the universe.
Domenico Mileto
#猫 #自由 #詩 #絵画
