Attrition

~attrition~ Xvia ~philosophy~

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Letters from the Monastery VIII: Angels Run Away

9-27-2017 - Angels Run Away

Angels Run Away

Drifting down that rat hole, he doesn’t want to go there alone so he becomes superman, trades women sex for drugs, gets the boys that way too. The world is his stage is his world. Everybody wants to see it, make him run, run away. Die, rock star, die. Angels run away.

Is it only our lives flashing by or some inconceivable broken covenant made with gods come to punish us for lies told. We struggle with our dragons, harm those nearest our hearts and homes. Is any future worth the destruction of moment, a process whereby, seeking, we throw it away.

Last night he slept with her, his woman, experienced a connection of spaces, armor set aside, bartered for skin on skin, become one complete, whole again. As he drove away, his mind retreated to a forest, a canyon, where he heard her voice first and stared into the reflection of lightning in her eyes.

Reality is his gallows of hope, a death sentence to all inhabitants of dreams. He said life was supposed to be fun, the puppet-master, thief of souls, whose strings labeled, “dainty delights” were tripwires opening drop-doors to the dungeons of fun seekers’ hearts.

When he discovered she no longer cared, he offered himself to stand instead of the murderer, stood resolute before the firing squad, life, metal on metal, click, ready, aim. He smiled behind the blindfold. Bullets cannot break a broken heart. God damn all governors and their pardons.

No prayers aloud in this room, always and ever, his whispered lies, born desperate, denied asylum. He left his child’s eyes underneath the bed baptized in splashes of mother’s blood. Each night alone is a fresh haunting for the crippled man in a crooked room.

The boy is afraid of chickens and spiders in the outhouse hole. Voices laughing into his blind eye face became the home of the impossible dream where the woman would come to hold him tight against her breast, keep him safe from himself. Angels run away, angels run away.

http://wordwulf.com
Inquiries: wordwulf@gmail.com
© 2017 artwork, music & words
conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2017 ©

via Tom WordWulf Sterner

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Ambiguities

9-26-2017 - Ambiguities Xvia ~philosophy~

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Bridges

9-26-2017 - foretime - Bertrand Russell - bridgesvia ~foretime~

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Hang Time

9-25-2017 - Hang Time - Six word stories Xvia storybook

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Subjective

9-23-2017 - Subjective - Xvia ~philosophy~

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Esplanade

9-22-2017 - Esplanade X

Esplanade

There’s an angry carpenter building
a table without any legs
a mother teaching her children
to fetch, sit up and beg
The dogs of night make a prayer
for the lady without any hands
She applauds the one-legged preacher
who left his parts in old Viet Nam
Innocent drug angel darlings
stare into the guns of the raid
and the children under the table
bless their hearts
Esplanade

You will never know where I’m going
until your feet taste paths I have been
a tear and a cup overflowing
sins of the lost captain’s men
I wonder if I might find purchase
a brick or a ring in the wall
a coffin to hang on forever
to hear the great sparrow’s call
There’s a chorus of blind singing patriots
flying a song without wings
They may lose their direction
They will never forget how to sing
She is an opening flower
a path for the living parade
Lay down in her soft bed of roses
to bleed
ah, sweet Esplanade

May be the gods do not see them
May be the gods’ eyes are blind
There is no end to their praying
for surely the gods must be kind
They hide away from the madman
who tells them they are betrayed
He waits for the full moon to take him
then he howls, howls
Esplanade

Dead poets speak through their silence
whisper “return nevermore”
A child looks in the mirror
wonders, ‘Why the hell was I born?’
Someone has slain all its warriors
tortured the king of its soul
Mother and father are preying
in the barroom for pots of its gold
Life is a constant reminder
death, the warrior who waits
Fate owns the face in the mirror
the key to the lock on its gate
So have you noticed her freedom
the laughter behind all her lies
where chaos and order go dancing
only chaos survives
I walked the shores of her oceans
soft and cold and afraid
followed the paths of her creatures
cross her vast expanse
Esplanade

I have tasted the breath of her seasons
her bitter roots and sweet wine
and though I know she is wounded
I seek her like something divine
As I approach her wound I am kissing
the blood drops her suffering made
my feet caressing her footsteps
My lips whisper
“Sweet Esplanade”

She lays her pain out before me
the soft ragged edge of her truth
I lick the scent of her fire
with the misguided tongue of my youth
Her scars are written upon me
from sleeping too close to the wound
skin so easily broken
on this eggshell side of the moon
The tides are breaking forever
on a sweet violin never played
where only warriors are dancers
on the last grass
Esplanade

I’m breaking bread with the serpent
making love with the mice
There’s a game I play with the devil
betting against loaded dice
I die at the end of my prayer
My face breaks the earth unafraid
Your heavy stones on my body
I cry out
“Sweet Esplanade”

I have drunk myself into stupid
sung her praises through my whiskey breath
for the tender peace of her body
the long-suffering pain of her death
I keep a piece of her soul in my pocket
I sleep with her every night
I hear the wind through the willows
kiss her lips when we fight
A beggar has set her on fire
for a ransom that will not be paid
A thief has stolen her jewels
She suffers it well
Esplanade

There is a ghost haunting my castle
She cries, goddam, I know why
Her heart is ten thousand times broken
She tries, they won’t let her die
So she crawls in my bed of an evening
struggles to keep me awake
I find myself reaching for her
hungry for the love we could make
Courage lies under the blanket
The windows are filthy inside
You cannot see through a mirror
just going along for the ride
She is all, she is all that exists
make myself naked and wade
follow her down ‘til eternity passes
She is all, she is all
Esplanade

All tangled up in my covers
afraid of the dark and the day
I wait ‘til she comes to hold me
and chase my darkness away
Then I lay at her breast like an infant
suckled and cozily warm
She covers my seed with the earth of her body
to shelter me from the storm
I drink her milk and I bite her
feeding upon her the same
I call her triangular mother
and know her by no other name
With her blood and milk on my muzzle
I cry in the mess I have made
She wraps me in flowers and powders my ass
She is all, she is all
Esplanade

I live in a box in the attic
measure my space two by two
drag myself out for holiday weekends
and photograph pictures with you
Maybe I’ll take you there with me
touch with my hands in the dark
Which one is which
I get so damned confused
like a child playing with cards
The best of the times I am rolling
in fields of flowers and shade
watching the children as they start their journey
into her heart
Esplanade

http://wordwulf.com/blog
Inquiries: wordwulf@gmail.com
© 2017 artwork, music & words
conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2017 ©

via Tom WordWulf Sterner

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