All right, I'll read two more poems.
Has anybody ever woken up and had a cat be dead on them
before?
[LAUGHTER]
Only in Wisconsin.
This is called-- this isn't what the poem's about,
but I'm going to write that poem soon.
That happened to me two weeks ago.
[LAUGHTER]
This is called, "Building of Unseen Cats."
And this is a true story, too.
"When I woke up, it was the middle of the night
and my building was on fire.
The hallway was not filled with smoke.
And then quickly it was.
I rescued a few older men from their bathtubs, a few babies
from their cribs.
Outside the air was filled with hair.
Everyone, but me, was holding a plastic cage with a cat in it.
We weren't supposed to have cats in my building.
But there they all were.
An invisible nation suddenly un-curtained into a blinding
and brutal world.
Everyone looked at me with a face that said,
let's never speak of this."
[LAUGHTER]
"Let's not look directly at what is meant to be loved in secret.
Let's, for example, imagine the sea is always
constantly and forever spilling toward us
that our screaming building is something worth escaping."
That's completely true, except I didn't save any babies.