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We're the Mafia catsBugsy, Franco and ToniWe're crazy for pizzaWith hot pepperoni
In our flatfaces speakof places across the sea.
In our flatvoices walk intalking, but not like me.
All you see is outside me: my painted smile,the rosy-posy shell, the fluttery eyes.A butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth-type me
Toothless, she kisseswith fleshy lipsrounded, like mouthof a bottle, all wet
She bruises your facealmost, with twoloving tree-root hands.
Midnight. A knock at the door.Open it? Better had.Three heavy cats, mean and bad.
When I was bornI was a familiar,a black cat, Satan’s favourite form.
The phone ringsBut never long enoughFor the Slow Man.
By the timeThe set’s switched onHis favourite programme’s over.
In the beginning was the wordand the word is ours:
the names of places,the names of flowers,the name of names,words are ours.