a totem poem for bats

The Persian cats twitch off the love
in caresses and kittens,
while we bats carry it deep into
our stalactite-furnished cave-scenes,
to dwell amid echoes
and the stark symphonies of the dark:
rythmic drips,
screeching insect solos,
and choral cacophonies of hair-raising sonar
rising up the ebony Gothic vaults:
all manically translated
by the spinning needle of the pictograph-o-phone
for the records
of the wax mausoleum...
drip drip drip
hip hip hip