Afterthought 721—Triangulation Fugue
Triangulate to get to me, if you must, with his ice moon for point of reference, then back up, wait to make your move until you can make out what you will to be heard enough to throw shadows, not knowing that words unheard risk nothing, how words unsaid are the sin, but it works so long as nothing moves out of your line of sight, undisturbed by the usual business transactions. Write me down for one of your marks. |
Afterthought 173—A Doppelgänger’s Complaint
If I possessed such magic as might weave vibrations through the wind such as dare dance the stars through myths and legends we believe, my spells would cast our night its own romance in gold and silver circles wrapped in ice as delicate as light's transparent veil revealing word in love's most secret vice and love retracing blood's worst wayward trail. I don't. The surest song I try to raise falls flat, chokes on its bone, avoids its own reflection, pastes in hoary grays on grays, finds beauty in its hemorrhoids. Obloquy suits the ear, no? Let each word be child unknown, unwritten and unheard. |
Afterthought 175—High Calling
As easily released as a breath held back, conformable to death. I along with his vision suspended in his version, am apprehended. At so early an end easily blinded by perfection, thus minded. By no strange coincidence's cross of sin on sin, counted loss. |
Afterthought 3—Under an Assumed Identity
Maggie — undigested reflux caught in your throat, a migraine's stabbing pain, a fatigue's aching throb, dirt and pus bubbling from picking at a scar's clot. Bruised children scream the crust of my name's scab in vain prayers to absentee gods. Naked ghosts howl the retch of my autograph's mark left by whip and club. Plagues of diseased insects descend when you call for me. Through floods of rats and debris you're swept repeating sounds meant to damn souls to their hell. Like foul wind rotting inside a decrepit crypt, like blackened dry bone honed on sin's fierce lathe, like dead air in an endless winter wrapped. No more your voice itself with my name clothe except to embrace the lover you most loathe. |
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