What can I do that will somehow reach her?
~Jim Morrison from "Miami"
~Friedrich Nietzsche~
when you haven’t yet been to sleep
lost to the moon’s dictation as tides
murder in your blood
riding the storm
The bad sister’s face in the mirror won’t drop
Tempered by the Woman Without
Memories call his attention to the moon
Reluctant to follow a heart
so recently exiled to the roam
he stares at a single blind window facing east
imagines mad dogs in the yard
considers the other portal door
icicles’ frigid need to pierce his feet in the night
His heart is a lonely wanderer
It listens to the howling voice of winter
wind threatening to enter the room
It was cold the day he left her
in the tiny city of the owls
Wisdom has bitten his love dreams in half
He is lost in a labyrinth of pain
The teacher warned her students, “beware
lest your noodle poems bite you”
She knew a man who drowned in the soup of himself
Photographs are mind whips to the lonely
reminders of that other reality
He has gathered his tablets in piles
an impenetrable wall of words
Digging through papers, a card fell in his lap
It was a note from his mother
begging forgiveness and too late now
He speaks desperately to her box of ashes
Is it shameful for a man to weep?
There are seven levels of revenge
the winds of time disregard
There’s the moon he shared with her
It captures his eyes, draws them
through a wintry haze of clouds
He has stood too long in the yard
trapped ‘neath a masque of ice
Where have they taken his princess
the lightning of her desire?
When eyes close and hands reach
what nimble creatures of habit they are
open on empty and holding without
Their disappointment is a near-step to misery
They torture the mind that made them so
Spirits of darkness invade
and slip away with our dreams
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© 2018 graphic artwork music and words
conceived by and property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2018 ©