Up from the grovel she came like some raw unknown conscious. She ripped out my heart and left me to shiver and decompose. I am one eyed and alone, and in the dark, but truly it makes no difference if it’s dark or the sun is shinning. I am the sunshine and you are the daytime. I am the night light that shines through your night time.
The visitor, you foul worm who ate at my carcass at the rodent’s next door, the possum playing possum, the skunk, the feline, the canine, the overweight women. It swims in her intestines, till the blood oozes out. Daylight savings, the turn beyond turning.
*
Myosotis, flowers love me, hug me touch the goldfish by the black sparrow’s glasses. Touch the glasses by the black sparrow’s hands, and genitals. Ditch me and love me not, and leave a cock and rooster by the jugglers hands, by the jester’s dance into the sunset’s lily. Forget about the sunset, for the sun sets above the skies crust, the crescent sun’s moon lies beneath the weight of a crescent sun’s set.
*
When I entered this hotel, I could feel her ringing, all those days she had left me alone like a dolphin’s fin. Much lower though, beneath the surface. I rung her bell until she came to let me stay.
This dark hotel is gross and dark and rainy. “Yes sir!” at your service he exclaims. The man with the dark mustache, old eyes, skinny face, an older skinny gentlemen. “May I get a room?” says I, “Why yes” he exclaims once again, “Let me take your bags”.
It’s cold outside in the rain, I think I’ll stay the night, room 408. Just beyond the elevators gaze.
“We’ve been expecting you” he tells me. “Now here’s you’re room”.
Only one room stands alone in the red walled hall, “Only one room?” I said. “Yes sir” he replies, “We’ve been expecting you.”
The room is empty and dark when I enter. She told me to meet her here, that she would be at this very hotel. The bed is huge and empty as the room’s rose🌹. Empty dresser, full trash can; papers, plastic, licker bottles, boxes of cigarettes. May it have been this room I wonder, the room she stayed that night when we last spoke. I take a last smoking gas with the fumes, smoking the grass flumes.
The other drawer has only a picture of us together, with a kiss stained on it’s face, an expression I can almost read her face. When she left, I lost my love for art. I lost my heart.
In the dresser there’s a room, in the room there are roses, and goldfish. There is one wall painted red, and behind the pictures, a well. Behind the well, there are no pictures just glasses. Glass cases each holding an important clue, and a bright blue button below. “Will you help me follow her wind?” I begged the turtle doves to cry. Evil dog outbreak, every day’s God’s resistance. Me? I’m only a lily pad, lay down your flowers on me.
*
Look at the rodent’s eyes, shine so bright as the sun sets into eternal slumber. Wake me from the bottom with the warmth of a kind ending. Cover me a limo, cash garbage and the dark ages surround me, hands.
*
Poison the well, I remember the day the sun went out. Nothing but drunkenness, drunkenness and buffoonery. We lay near nests where sugar plums lay in the sand. I remember that trip we had taken that day, the beach was angry weather. The sky wept all afternoon, we found shelter below an apple tree, with purple plum colored apples. The taste in my mouth now as I watch this flashback, like fresh rice and beans. Her head is a TV set. She stands in the empty field of grass and sand. Lamb of God you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Your lion is a liar, truly and completely inside the yellow substance of my mind. The dirty she has buried herself below, sinks her feet, until all that is left to be seen is the television of her skull. The lizards creep inside.
*
A wet willow pad of lilies in the smoke and fog of the swamp. I’ve been walking for days and the rain brings the insects to nest, to lay their eggs in the puddles of mud. I can only go but so deep to search. Where do I give in the grape vine? When I let go of the sands as they slip from my hand as time’s sands do.
The skinny man with the dark mustache once again a guide. “I’ve been expecting you”, and into the swamp he rows a small boat of me and the suited man with aged eyes. “Where am I?”, the only proper question in such absurdity.
“You are in the place where dreams come to die. This is the home of your fallen dreams.”
I look into the river so dark and deep. The land now seems far and fog is thick in all directions. Old skinny eye continues his speech “This story begins now, but only if it ends in desert sands. You know, the sands that blow.”
I do know those sands. I know the desert, this is the home of the world that is unseen, that which exists only in your mind of a bubble. The heat passes by and the story begins to materialize. The boat stops and my guide points to the river, I look but can see nothing, I look back at my guide, and he continues to point only with more intent this time. I look ounce again at the dark water as it begins to bubble, and up from the bubbles a bloated and disfigured creature raises from the abyss and grabs me by my shoulder’s seat and takes me to the deep.
In my despair and in my lustful desire I find no solace, but this is the way in which I chose to express my horniness. The only way to express the thoughts and desires of a maniac, here in the deep. Before I am done, I know that I will cry and suffer, and then my suffering shall end. It is where my story ends, that is where their stories shall begin and it is their stories that must be told. Man of dogs, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us, and have forgiveness for there is no love without forgiveness. Three steps until forgiveness, it has taken all this absurdity to bring us to our point, and so our story can begin.
