Is a shrouded ombre cumulus cloud
Actually she is a theosophist
I smelled her out immediately
She stinks pink, that’s how I know
Izzy comes from a crag-ridden Carpathian crow-infested city
Or maybe not, maybe from the Andes
(I really adore hearing Izzy spout spiritual in Spanglish)
Mucha mierda, she perches on a peaky monolith and mouths off
Since she tastes pink she is philosophical
to think it has come to this: my gata
is a pedagogue of the arcane language of the cosmos
Crouched above Madame Blavatsky’s head like a halo
Izzy laughs and leaps into the air
Helena clears her throat as Izzy spits and hisses and scratches
Well, she will spit and hiss and scratch some day, will roll
around on Madame’s rug to get her lizard belly scratched
A cat like Izzy is as rare as a Flamenco dancing mule
Hearing the symphony cojelo con take it easy
Curled next to the mouthy footstool upon which Madame rests her feet
Izzy dreams of ombre