Letting lose a fury—a pride of lions caught in a windstorm. Relinquishing froth from a teacup. If there was anything to hang a hat on what would it look like? If there were an answer what would it be?
If the question were relevant, relevant to what? To what matters? What matters?
Everything matters, that’s the problem. When we hunger for something it’s matter becomes heavy and matters more with each waking moment.
Each waking moment beckons a new lifetime and touches upon a history never written. Belonging to us, not me, not you, not them, not anyone but the all-pervading lust of time. Gobbling pain like m&m’s and feeding on our tears like a giant tear eating lava dweller.
Strikes at the heart of my angry beast whose dinner was destroyed by astronauts living on another planet in another galaxy far away. Drinking from the Holy Grail and wondering what it’s made of and where the hell did we find this thing? Let’s go out tonight. Where should we go? Let’s dance. No let’s eat a monster’s left eyeball.
I cringe at the thought of a repelling fear coaxed out of the fridge by paler beings.
Banging out dwellings from rock and plaster.
Hoping for a better place.
Relying on anger to propel us from place to place.
Relying, re-lying and lying to redo
Lying in wait
Covering the spot before I notice.
Fear baths her tears in remorse and regret.
Fear baths his longing in disgust and he pulls back the covers to reveal a reveling past taken at the stake of my bowels, my bowels on a stake in the middle of a field full of flowers. The stench of singed flesh floating from village to village giving all a sense of having been here before.
Standing quietly by a river or a lake wondering if it will engulf me and take me back to places I remember in my dreams and cover my fate with lace.
Interlacing the thoughts like a tattered tatting
Made by veiny, arthritic fingers
Shaking from the strain and exhausted by the taut strings
Held by wooden pieces.
Loathing this place we find ourselves in.