The Skull That Loves You from Issue 91/92
I totally love you, cat with no face. You snarl
like a person, snaggle-gripped grin, and you rub your skin
into my palm, muscles smooth as plastic to the touch.
You’re a cuddly death’s head, a mascot for shipwrecked pirates.
Unaware of your Halloween grimace, you jump into every open arm.
When I wake, your staring skull is the first thing I see.
Woe is you, the public says. Oh woe is me, who can’t accept love
from a naked skull without a flinch. Your toothy smile and lidless eyes
mock the living. Here I am, O builder of cities and spaceships,
maker of sculptures that will last, but not long enough,
philosophizer, believer in the immortality of thought,
feed me, your loving death. You are all that gives me purpose.