original ken

in time she sees the folly of following leads who too frequently fall behind.

she pauses, ponders that a machete in her own hand could ensure her passage to paradise and doubly serve for beheading serpents.

she pauses again, reflecting that a serpent in paradise would have no true need for machetes or leaders.

power aroused, she stops playing wake to wankers and slithers silently into the understory.

A Poem for Today

There was, before me

by Stephen Crane

There was, before me,
Mile upon mile
Of snow, ice, burning sand.
And yet I could look beyond all this,
To a place of infinite beauty;
And I could see the loveliness of her
Who walked in the shade of the trees.
When I gazed,
All was lost
But this place of beauty and her.
When I gazed,
And in my gazing, desired,
Then came again
Mile upon mile,
Of snow, ice, burning sand.

recollections and reality

a time before i walked quiet paths winding between gargantuan ancient trees, vines streaming from their canopies into verdant undergrowth.

i exited once after being whipped to death before the scornful eyes of many angry men. until i was five or more i could feel the sting of lashes tearing at my flesh, hear the din of frantic voices.

from birth the visions were vivid, but in time the people and places that came with this body and time sealed the recollections away.

then in sleep or near sleep terror and confusion began to wreak havoc on that well-ordered construct. i lay safe from human harm as my spirit was yanked from soaring freely through the air to being crushed under a room full of concrete to being drawn with incredible force into the center of the Earth.

by day, the noble imperative to be free of sin at all times lest my soul be engulfed by hellfire for eternity shadowed my life like a great lead umbrella. total suppression of one's sin nature seemed impossible. the imperative felt more like mandatory damnation, the quest for grace a spectator sport for some cruel invisible divinity.

between the curiosities of the night and the pressure of day, my little tow head was spinning.

at least that's how it felt when i was eight.