Cat Got Your Soul?
Not a purr, pussy, fur, friend, or
feline cat. Not
a stretch-and-rub mate for
your morning wakes.
But a blue, whiskered, under-
water cat, big
as a mud-bellied sow, inscrutable
as a palsied whale.
And what he means to you and me
as yet remains
unsaid. But say we must be-
cause he swims
the karst caves of your deep
life, the fissures
and sinkholes, in aquifers naught
run dry. You can’t
stare him in the eye, but he
you. And does.
And when your last shallow breath
pools in passages
run tight, he snatches your soul
and whisks the stink away in night.
Atropos? He laughs
at that scissor-myth shit, because
mouth is big as the whole damn world,
and his forked tail
a road much traveled. Wonder ye
then at his feral hunt?