~Poe, Nietzsche, Morrison, Manson loosening the mind nuts~
~raven speaking the dark night~
~Helter Skelter & oh, my damn, the music’s over here~
~goodnight my lady this~
~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: I~
~Confirmation of Darkness~
Monkish, I am a monkey starving in the limbs of a barren tree watching the ape community thriving on the lush jungle of life, unwilling, unable to join them, surviving by consuming vermin crawling through the skin of my brain.
There is a tin man howling whose body is a whistle stop where blackbirds rest and cackle, dance across his stiff arms, make sport of his scarecrow appearance. I scatter seeds on the ground to get them off me.
A continuum of negativity has swallowed my universe, beginning with naked parents and the poor rags of their death. My lady’s kisses have been taken, carried away in strongboxes, offered free to strangers.
Struggling to find a peace of ground, running bare-skinned through a snowfield, my spirit howls out to the gods seeking confirmation of destiny, its voice singing a litany handed down from the cradleboard in chains, the slave camp of my being.
If not for the glad-song of my children I might swallow the carpet nails of life, sing a rasping, gushing blood-song, allow myself the strength and release of weakness. Yet do they sustain me, demand with the purity of their love that I stand diminished, love them unconditionally.
She met me in a lightning storm, captured, ran away with my heart. Years grind our dearest dreams to dust. They become clouds to confuse and confound us. A poor lover, I struggle desperately to recapture what were, perhaps, only thoughts of a blind man who believed for a moment he could see.
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
~raven speaking the dark night~
~Helter Skelter & oh, my damn, the music’s over here~
~goodnight my lady this~
~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: I~
~Confirmation of Darkness~
Monkish, I am a monkey starving in the limbs of a barren tree watching the ape community thriving on the lush jungle of life, unwilling, unable to join them, surviving by consuming vermin crawling through the skin of my brain.
There is a tin man howling whose body is a whistle stop where blackbirds rest and cackle, dance across his stiff arms, make sport of his scarecrow appearance. I scatter seeds on the ground to get them off me.
A continuum of negativity has swallowed my universe, beginning with naked parents and the poor rags of their death. My lady’s kisses have been taken, carried away in strongboxes, offered free to strangers.
Struggling to find a peace of ground, running bare-skinned through a snowfield, my spirit howls out to the gods seeking confirmation of destiny, its voice singing a litany handed down from the cradleboard in chains, the slave camp of my being.
If not for the glad-song of my children I might swallow the carpet nails of life, sing a rasping, gushing blood-song, allow myself the strength and release of weakness. Yet do they sustain me, demand with the purity of their love that I stand diminished, love them unconditionally.
She met me in a lightning storm, captured, ran away with my heart. Years grind our dearest dreams to dust. They become clouds to confuse and confound us. A poor lover, I struggle desperately to recapture what were, perhaps, only thoughts of a blind man who believed for a moment he could see.
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
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