Cat’s Game, or Playing Noughts & Crosses in the Dusk
- Admin
- 4 hours ago
- 1 min read
You tell me tic-
tac-toe is
boring, will always
end in ties, a stale-
mate just like us,
where nothing has been
lost but never won,
drawing draws
ad infinitum,
our pencils ever
dull in HB grey,
from the scratch
of X & Os, in a box in
a box of nine, lives of a
sterile cat, jejune
along its treadmill
night & day,
stop & start
eternally out of
reach—of its clawless,
pacing paws, going nowhere
slow yet swift—
a circle
of which there is no
bitter close, commencement,
a first or final kiss,
and where an X
is always X—
regardless of
inversion,
its red of wrong
& quarry,
will always mark the
spot that lied of love.
Andreas Gripp
July 1, 2025

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