With Kings and Counselors...

"For now should I have lain still and been quiet, I should have slept: then would I have been at rest,

With kings and counselors of the earth, who built desolate places for themselves;

Or with princes that had gold, who filled their houses with silver?"

I started crying and never stopped, but that is where life begins. When you can't resist but to feel, but to show yourself what you want and what you need. That is what life is about, I'm showing this to you for goodness. Moonlight will fall on my alley and puncture my windows and visit me in my bedroom. I lay my head in the dark and glare at my fluorescent clock and feel the cold and warm breezes from the window and the fans and the machine. The light from under my door reminds me of you and the rest of them, a sun whining to be involved in the end. A son crying when he is left out gives you such sadness! Violence hurts you, it hurts all but it hurts you. That is sweetness, sugar and all the good things in the world. Early cold weeping. Early cold weeping. Mornings in and I refuse to go places, nights out. My mug in the mirror, broken and filled with the coffee, my mug. oh I'm blind. my eyes stretch out of their radii and hurt, ache and are sore. Love what happened there. It's an epic jaundice that corners my lips. I can only dream now with my midnight snacks and late weekend mornings with the sun periodically passing across my room in ultra bright white. Dawn brings us who we want but we  are dead and dirty and we flush our things down the world sewers! 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 and done ness. Steely-eyed country girl, his girlfriend and him in the dark with me. The miserables. I eat my greens and then this girl with deep red hair cutely cutes herself in the cute area and I get cute all over my cuteness. sickeness. sickeeness of heer, the sikcness of her and the clean woman. ANOTHER. ANOTHER. i give up on that one and i must pursue the other. moribundance.

dark attic with nails jutting from every wooden surface filled with porcelains and valuables and nerdy items. it is a sea of broken toys. ephemeral scratchings in an evening. I fear for my future, who's there and what's going on. hunted free and for the hunt itself and ghosts don't know! but soft, itself in itself is hunted and daunting and the haunting itself.

The endless, billowing steam cloud blowing from the urban walls lifts into the forever black, and I pass under, a spectator. Hm, I think. Hm. That's all, really. no, not all. the big one, the one who talks, ushers me into her childhood home at nighttime with my tears staining her parlor floor. "I'm sorry" she says. I say nothing, just sob a bit. She brings me in, sits me down by the fire, an orange one in a brick fireplace, place for fires. She wraps me in a rustic moose blanket and hands me a cup of coffee (how did she make it that fast?). She sits down beside me and puts her arm around me (she's wearing pajamas)(and somehow she's my age).

We talk and we talk and it ends until we talk again. We catch up, we bring things up and we end it all again. We start once more, talking and reminiscing and just loving together. It was a night, surely, it was. I don't get it, she's mine. I don't get it. She is our age, this woman. I think she does, but who knows what they have done to her. nothing to be unwrapped. there is nothing. none of this true, none of it real. dyeing alone, the color black into my pants and my shirts. the color, alone. it washes me in it, I wash myself in the black alone color. the transcendental transparency of this liquid, slow death. be proud of me. accolade me in it, love me through it and be with me between it. he's gonna hurt you, only gonna hurt you. I swear, I can possibly be it, what you want. Just talk to me. Just talk.


"WHAT HAS CAST SUCH A SHADOW UPON YOU?"