Once upon a whatever,
as aluminum homes and nature
flew by where my windows
used to be, what with the tornado
and all,
there was a surreal cat.
Yep, that's what I have to report.
The color of her coat
depended greatly on
the nature of the magazine
one's eyeballs were reading to one.
"I think surrealism is bullshit,"
Margo said. "I think it is life
itself," replied Joe. Neither
one of them existed.
Things fall apart. That's
not necessarily terrible. Things
stay together--not necessarily
good. As to the falcon, the falconer,
and the goddamned gyres, who knows?
Seriously, Yeats can be
a real pain in the ass sometimes.
We at the Surreal Cat Corporation
appreciate your refraining
from talk of apocalypse.
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