Mysteries

when he call himself out 

--  Where the hell do you think youre going

he screamed

--  Who the hell do you think youre talking to  Aint going nowhere  Im figuring this out

but no matter how many arms he twisted                                                                       

faces he grated on raw concrete or rusty chainlink fences 
                                                             or liberated barbedwire across the palms of restrained hands
they werent sayin

he was willing to abuse
                          not kill

they forsook him for his lack of compunction 

they wouldnt shake out 

they held their wicked little secrets tight

and as he watched it play out behind their bright wet eyes into abject delirium he could see its shadow at the edges of their eyes where they receded into their heads 

where once they were red-tinted
                                   there were tongues of dazzling white spirals
caustic

         lapping

game

none would say what its point was

grim

none would say where the game went
cyclic                  

ceaseless

a wicked little secret

a spiral living on its inertia

even black eyes couldnt diminish

tough  fucking  customers

--  Where the hell do you think youre going

--  Im out

--  Thought you were going to figure this one out

--  I was wrong  Some mysteries ought not be known

0009,  Sunday,  22  9. 13