I saw the space beneath my grave. It came to me last night in the form of a cat with milk on its paws. It left white footprints across the wood floor that soured when the sun rose and curdled by noon. By evening the house stank with its fetid fouling, it browned and crusted to a fine dust that blew up and out the window. When the cat returned to sleep it divided like a replicating cell until the space exploded with cats and my grave fell into the hole they left, but it was just a vision. It passed in the morning with the wet slapping of the newspaper delivered to my porch, I rose and read the headline with my coffee, Bush butters—Kerry waffles. |
