A blue fog cozied up and kissed the cherry red sand where he bent and picked out 

pieces of seaglass            

I stood above him  up the seachannel  on a black rock promontory smashing bottles to bits
to please his fingers and greed
 

a small token for a pitiful soul

eventually

eventually he was pleased

but until he was pleased

he was a bitch

and if any part of your life rubbed up against his you were bitched too

because there was no shutting him up  or down

frail and pale white

he used his sickly attributes like pins and needles at voodoo dolls and when he was 

really bitched he slashed and stabbed the dolls with knives and shivs without apology

or seeking forgiveness

like a forlorn priest inside a confessional who learns your shame  derides you  then lifts

the gauze curtain and spits in your face

                                                                                   and yet  I can accept him

because I can see him

I can find him easily

at least he is honest

however there are others who hide inside their skin and are equally as appalling

                                                                                                               I am wary of them

wary  of the cool green glint in their eyes that camouflages or deflects their tell

and stops me from seeing in 

 

and inside their head

it refracts their perceptions and acuity until only slivers of light and spectrum remain to

inform them

legally blind

they divine their way  and ours

but at our Xpense

and Revealed

I know the bitched deviate acts better

1654,  Monday,  13  10.  14

     2339,  Tuesday,  14  10. 14