Frost fell down

On your town

And covered up those streets

All around.

Spring will soon

Spring into view

Unveiling those secrets,

You know are true.

One day I woke up, and my fingers were ice cold.

And yes, it happened just overnight.

I tried to scratch away the freeze, but my passion had grown old.

I laughed a little, even though I knew not to make the situation light,

But it took me a whole half hour to come to grips with my ice cold frozen icicle grip.

–

I’ve seen peoples’ fingers claw up before.

Mostly during yawns or when curling into a fist,

But like the fist stopped halfway, resembling beasts from Anglo-Saxon lore.

When monsters got jealous of faeries who fell in love from a hero having wished.

But my claw wasn’t my idea, and I sure as hell am not jealous of anyone.

–

So I ran it under warm water.

Specially careful not to get it too hot,

But idly, I forgot to stop it and it got hotter,

And it was too late to stop the flow because my hands were claws and ice cold

And couldn’t grip the faucet.

Part 107.

It’s been a while, now

Hasn’t it?

You’ve grown old.

You’ve grown cold,

In the eyes. I can tell

You’re not you, anymore.

Elliott said that today was Friday.

He was wrong, but I didn’t correct him.

Poor guy never can win.

How’s the new townhouse?

Are the tiles straight?

Are the walls white enough for your sensitive eyes?

Are your eyes still always open?

Or do they close nowadays?

The reason I’m writing you,

I suppose you’re wondering by now,

Is just to say hello.

I guess I had more questions to ask

Since the last time we spoke.

…Funny how those things surface when you least expect it.

Lucky the dog and Lilly the cat were the dearest of friends,

Until the day they inevitably realized,

That one was a dog and the other was a cat.

Regretfully, they began to discover their places in life.

They read a book on it.

Lilly tried the chase first, but something didn’t feel quite right.

Lucky was a little too fast, and Lilly enjoyed it very little.

So they tried it the other way, and things clicked,

Suddenly.

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.