notbob wrote:

"I have measured out my life in coffee spoons ..."

How dull.

I happen to also hold T. S. Eliot in high esteem. At least a couple parts of
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" could have been specifically written
for cybercat. Here they a


I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

and

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each
I do not think that they will sing to me.


Then there's the description of one of cybercat's "dates" in "The Waste
Land":

He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
. . .
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'

[Well, OK, the poem left out the part about $3.50 on the nightstand.
cybercat always needs about $3.50.]

Bob