Grace in a clump of shed cat hair

Dead, you're killed.
Just a thing tossed away
Unworthy to be buried
Unless you read discarded as buried
Forgetfulness a funeral

Scorn is heaped upon you
An exile from the mass
A leper from the beast
An ugly site, can't be left to show
Can't be left to grow
Unless somebody would know

But I know-
I see I know know
I pick you up with my hand
I feel your delicateness
Between my fingers and
I see you aren't so dirty

There is a place in my pocket
Next to my notebook
With all my thoughts and promises
You can read it while you stay
A while until a time comes to go
But by then you'll be ready

All I ask that when I need it
I'll reach into my pocket
And feel your softness
Or dry my hands
When it rains