Prose & Stream of Consciousness

Stream #4 – no her can save me

would be that i knew she couldn’t save me,

but hate me, destroy me, splay me open, crush me, display me, hate me, destroy me

i know now no Her can save me.

she’s sitting in neon dark night red lights

(they glow with inner filament clatter, and cackle, and devil dance, demon chatter.)

 

sit to feel betrayed and arrayed in cold loneliness

i grow out from the cold ground

a child of dust.

(je sors de la poussière, à la poussière je reviendrai.)

 

where but skylord turn when the utter infinite weary emptiness returns

and death waits patiently without salvation

if there can be any

for the cruel or the meek

 

she stands in dark night neon glow red lights, by the wayside.

though turned aside still my care follows, and my heart burns like murder-ice.

can’t believe nor deny i’m still alive- to think what lays left to be fought!

sleeping dog lies, you lie here all alone, but don’t always believe your own lies.

 

 

worshipful wilderness! salvation of man

the shadow stretches long on the road

weary dreamer, secret keeper, the fire is in hand

but used for light it won’t scold

 

one drop water, supplicate

till the old morning reaper

causes it to start all again

 

sun high

like one minute

from midday

midnight

 

and i’m still alive

freakishly

peeking over hedge

and making my bets

 

trust no one.