~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: IV~
~damned to be rabid dog bitten~
~the twisted vein at the business end of a needle~
~molested by an older sibling~
~alone in the bathtub~
~alone in the room~
~cryptococcus in the tomb~
~c’mon l’il girl~
~got somethin’ for ya~
~Brethren Misguided~
The woman has broken his heart, says she loves him too much to love him. Unable to say goodbye, she refuses to say hello. The mystery of gender is elusive. Islands are free as they stand, defenseless in the face of tides.
The loss of love is a nearer death, as its constituents are breathing still, a double suicide as it were, grief, a shifting wall of shadows. The pallbearers were blindfolded, united in their stilted, stiff-gait stride. A corpse enters and owns any room.
I have a longing to be the last man standing. The whole damned world has gone to sleep. The refrigerator and tick tock clock growl through the mind of the insomniac. The wizard is buried under the dead tree whose roots strangled him to death when he ingested seeds of knowledge.
I am the prefect of loneliness, a crowded voice in an empty room, ten-penny wishes on Saturday night. The voice of the woman says I love you, as recorded on the telephone machine, so long as you promise to stay away, realize I need not to need you.
My flesh is onion skin stretched o’er the starched bones of mediocrity, a spider web bouncing on my eyes whose maker has seen who I am and eaten her way through my brain is a thin masque veil of death smoke rising from the fading ember life.
She told us to stand up and be men. We argued, fought over bananas, chased naked women up and down the halls where life is swallowed by alleys, mad dogs with moons in their eyes. He said he was glad she was dead. Only I saw the lie in the tears in his eyes.
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
~damned to be rabid dog bitten~
~the twisted vein at the business end of a needle~
~molested by an older sibling~
~alone in the bathtub~
~alone in the room~
~cryptococcus in the tomb~
~c’mon l’il girl~
~got somethin’ for ya~
~Brethren Misguided~
The woman has broken his heart, says she loves him too much to love him. Unable to say goodbye, she refuses to say hello. The mystery of gender is elusive. Islands are free as they stand, defenseless in the face of tides.
The loss of love is a nearer death, as its constituents are breathing still, a double suicide as it were, grief, a shifting wall of shadows. The pallbearers were blindfolded, united in their stilted, stiff-gait stride. A corpse enters and owns any room.
I have a longing to be the last man standing. The whole damned world has gone to sleep. The refrigerator and tick tock clock growl through the mind of the insomniac. The wizard is buried under the dead tree whose roots strangled him to death when he ingested seeds of knowledge.
I am the prefect of loneliness, a crowded voice in an empty room, ten-penny wishes on Saturday night. The voice of the woman says I love you, as recorded on the telephone machine, so long as you promise to stay away, realize I need not to need you.
My flesh is onion skin stretched o’er the starched bones of mediocrity, a spider web bouncing on my eyes whose maker has seen who I am and eaten her way through my brain is a thin masque veil of death smoke rising from the fading ember life.
She told us to stand up and be men. We argued, fought over bananas, chased naked women up and down the halls where life is swallowed by alleys, mad dogs with moons in their eyes. He said he was glad she was dead. Only I saw the lie in the tears in his eyes.
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
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