My four bedposts weep in the rain outside.

I put them there with the rest of my furniture days ago.

Now they sleep and cry on the curb, off to the side,

Replaced by bare thinking space in my sleeker, better home.

Clear the clutter out, but where do you stop?

The mind is a silly thing for telling itself that it understands,

Its very own sinews and impulses, from the bottom to the top.

Our hero finds himself laying bare to the universe along the rocks of a pitch black lake.

His fingers folded like confused memories and gripped to their own lose strands.

The stars were out, and his breath had escaped him and joined the night time breeze.

Regardless of their shape and prescription, his eyes were shut to the outside world.

The evils as well as the joys were kept from his mind and the fleshy gates so easily screwed tight.

–

Our antagonist is out and visiting his friends in their Irish country homes.

O monstrous beast red with war and blue with thought,

Think no more, for rest has found you,

In the arms of understanding,

In the halls of welcoming brethren with whom you have fought.

–

Lay down your anger and willful violence.

Lay down your fate with eager breath.

Pick up the plow and build a home.

Make war with the earth and conquer all to your fence.

–

–

–

But what power can take the ferocity from his bones?

What fire can cleanse the war/bloodshed from his soul?

I’ve been reading more lately.

Finding myself in other’s words,

And other’s characters,

And other’s conversations.

I wrap up their adjectives like blankets around my brittle form.

Cling to every metaphor like it is my lifeblood,

My savior.

I’ve been reading more lately.

Part 7.

Gunthor’s feet fell faster and faster,

Gaining speed along the iron tracks.

When suddenly clatter.

He was bracing the ground with his back.

–

The Stars were bright as diamonds that night.

The clouds as cold as his lifeless sigh.

Exhausted.

Twisting mel0dies

Flirting through the willow trees.

Those sounds don’t ever leave me be. 

They fall and they fly and they

Come at the break of dawn

Every day.

Sometimes I think that I am mad.

But wouldn’t I think that I was the only sane one?

Wouldn’t I be the doctor in this psych ward of a world?

Tell me that.

Answer me from your high horse.

Are you the melodies?

Are you the trees? 

Cascade over ridges and under

Bridges of all sorts of sizes.

Pour your blue out into view

And finally into the sea.

Make West into East and test

Your compass mind

For cracks and magnetic fields of up-down out-in yes-no head shakes. 

And finger quakes, easy mistakes 

Over concerned with yesterday. 

Red cross came with good intentions,

But carried on its back a bleak black shadow.

You saw it wavering on the edge of hell,

Because you were standing there as well.

Midnight came, chimed in grandfather’s head,

When the angels came and stripped you from your bed.

You toed the line with empty intent,

And saw where all your deeds had sent

You to.

Principle is lost inside of practice.

Like characters who regret holding money,

And drop it like hot coals down into the beggars cups.

I do not need coal, only warmth from aged drinks.

I do not seek joy from anything.

If you can spare the time…

–

Time forgot to check itself, and now is late to space’s cocktail mixer.

Shake hands with Saturn,

For he was a father once

Regardless of how his children saw him.

–

Lucy does despise him,

But why come back to a hate so tightly wound

If not because it is rooted in broken fervor,

And the fever never broke,

Due to fortification through empty generic drugstore pill bottles.

But Saturn cancelled her insurance plan,

And laughed as she lost her poker hand.

So she left the table alone with a heart and spade to bury it with.

For the King had won one round and she found a particularly dreary hole needing to be dug.

–

Judas?

Are you there?

I left the coffee on with horrible intentions.

I’m sorry.

——————-Elliott and Tom

Part 6.

So these two men found what they needed.

Both at one’s top and one’s farthest south.

At the end of the road, Gunther pleaded.

At the top of the world, the simple man, over gentle winds, would shout.

–

But both discussions fell upon unwilling ears.

Beauty does not answer to mortal men.

And her silence fueled the licking flames of pre-inferno fears,

But struck by her presence and her eyes filled with stars, they merely listen.

–

To the will-o-wisps of how far they’ve come.