A Black Cat Moment

I’m a woman with the head of Adam.

You are a man with the body of Eve.

Conjoined and bound, like two air-tied towers,

we sting each other during the dark hours.

Our prophecy burns as one with the flame.

Equally shifting, our hearts are the blame.

Eternally falling, disgraced dirt-mesh,

systemed twins–I with breath and you by flesh.

A Black Cat Moment

You see,

I have one more

bullet

left.

It just sits

waiting

alone

in its last

chamber.

It has a name;

it’s called

Rejection.

You died once;

I killed you.

But

if you’ve been

planning

to

resurrect

in your newly found flesh,

just

to

come

my

way,

that last sound you’ll hear

was

from the one

last-blast pulled trigger

firing

I do.

A Black Cat Moment

Open your mouth. Open wide. Wider. A little more…there, that’s it! Now, here it comes.

Can you see me pawing the ground? Beat! Beat! Slap! Slap! Let me scoop out some more. What? What do you say now? Come again. Oh, you ask why my claws are digging the dirt so furiously?

Well, now that your soul is returned to the Source, and you now remain in your skeletal state, I get to now exorcise your blessing. You know, the one you manifested, but then rejected. You know, the gift that the Source handed to you, but your prejudice and pride pushed it out the way. You see, now I get to reverse God’s blessing that had been meant for YOU as well as curse your bloodline.

Enough! Here. Gargle some more dirt. Down the old hatch, my friend! I can’t hear you now. There, there. Let me pat down the extra dirt around the edges of your jawbone to make you look nice and even and ready for burying.

Interesting. Well, what do we have here? Look now at how that log of a worm crawls and curls around your left eye socket. It just snakes and slithers insidiously. Oh, but I did see that log in your eye coming from miles and miles away. You hear? Yes, that mote in your eye’s been glued there since before you were born. It’s part of your bloodline. I’ll just let it be. What a spectacle.

Let me lick now the edges of your jawbone so that I can taste your ashen thoughts. Let this karma now silence your spirit. So mote it be.

Open wide.

A Black Cat Moment

Secluded in a cold, dark room, I held tonight a solitary seance. There were no boards, no planchette, no candles, no table, no chairs, and no opening prayer. I’m the Black Cat, and they knew I didn’t require anything to speak directly to your soul. Only neophytes need religious books, crystal pendulums, Tarot cards, and town gossip to access your energy. They too knew I didn’t have an owner. I didn’t need an owner. I didn’t want to be owned. But this was your consultation, free of charge. I simply sat upright, like a burnt French loaf, and asked the Ghost one question: Who are you?

Death. You are Death. That was what the Ghost replied. I watched you grip at your heavy scythe with your two bony hands. You tried to maintain your weak balance, bending, then curling your dried up back like a drooping branch on a weeping tree. You remained whole, but your victims split off into many parts. I watched you furiously sliding, dragging the curved chine, chopping at hands, feet, and heads from off of them–your disobedient lovers.

Their limbs I watched plopping sloppily onto your spring-green garden hill along which you ambled, like a crownless king, grinningly cutting away at your once captured prey. A floral garden of dismay is what kept your life fertilized, always wetting it with suitably fresh blood. Thus, you bonded with your prey only to then exploit their soul and vandalize their bodies. Is that the reason why your garden trail exudes a strange scent?

Who are you?

A Black Cat Moment

Marked by her yellow-black-white bands, the caterpillar inched cautiously her way up his face onto the right side of his jowly cheekbone line. Her prolegs loved its cool touch. The friction underneath them energized her confidence. Calmly, she crawled her way up and up, and with each passing moment, she saw herself grow stronger and weightier for he had irreverently been feeding her his prideful confessions. Her tiny head gently bobbed up and down as it delicately worked its way up and up the diamond-shaped arch of his right-side cheek.

Suddenly, her head jerked to the right. One of her eyelets had captured what had seem to have been his last gaze to the world. His eyes were missing. In reverence, she bowed her small head and accepted the loss. She drew closer to the steady darkness for what stared back at her were two vacuous sockets voided of light. The eye sockets, sunken and withdrawn, formed a hybris of some forgotten tragedy that ruined his life long ago.

They stood like two yawning, giant caves wherby each entrance would await upon her joyous curiosity. Much hollower, lonlier, and more inviting than the other, nevertheless; it was his right-eye socket on which she chose to moult and lay her silk mat to hook and spin steel. Time grew and so did she. It was there inside his right-eye socket she nestled. Deep inside his eye of bondage, what she believed to have been her new home, her little Israel, she cocooned.

Quickly, it happened. Her newly found compounded vision glimpsed as red orbs lit and beamed gloriously back at her. She thought herself surrounded by and engulfed in flames. She soon uncovered the truth; they had never left him–his bright, red-hot eyes. She felt them gleaming now back at her seductively and penetratingly. And in a flash, her flaming orange wings burst taking off.