paws pressed to the metal cathedral,

tail a question mark in motion,

the night hums in fluorescent tongues,

a Walmart lot becomes the Milky Way,

headlights shimmer like UFOs,

and he...the prophet of purrs....stares into the infinite reflections,

of his own small and infinite self,

a fluff comet drifts across my dash,

meow-static crackling through the void,

the steering wheel becomes a halo,

and I ... the driver of dreams,

watch my co-pilot chase ghosts of moths,

that don’t exist anymore,

he’s silly,

wandering,

half philosopher,

half cloud,

the parking lot a playground,

the van a temple,

the night his personal glitch,

????

“some stars,” he seems to say,

“are just streetlights pretending.”

Pagan_mechanist