When he tired  when put his pen down the words in his head howled in protest 

 

they wanted out desperately wanted out of their dingy confines(who didnt) 

        

they didnt want to serve him or his sentences 

 

yet worse  they knew the only way out was through him 

the warden the wordsmith the keyskeeper

 

they also knew he couldnt be cajoled

because if he could  they were every word known to man and not one had ever succeeded getting out without going through him

he wasnt a brutish man he understood them better than they thought he did

  

though he didnt waste his time explaining such or acknowledging their jeers

their bitter confinement was no different than his

but they had away out

they could be reprieved

he could only put his pen down to rest then the following day pick it up and write again

he had no choice hence why he tweaked words made new words wrote write wriote

he referred to himself as a wrioter and had always preferred wrioting to communicate despite its easier spontaneous forms

because often those words didnt say what they truly wanted to communicate

 

often they were ugly

more often they were thoughtless

when he communicated  in black and white  he sought to say exactly what he wanted to say had thought his words through exercised them so he didnt have to retract them

he stood behind them

they stood behind him

symbiotic simpatico

                                  against the uttered and fingered words that took on a force and life of their own animating their speaker and fingerers minds loosening their tongues the queer sparks nearer and nearer tempting their dry tinder

words that ran ahead of themselves lathered aerated(erratic)

 

once they thought they could make a break

saw that the walls were high and dissipated into a mauve an azured roil above their heads

the earth hard

they couldnt dig into it

it chipped

then one day the miasma cleared and they saw the circular walls ran up as one and formed a dome

they realised they were not inmates

they were enclosed

and he

 

              he verged on becoming their reluctant god

   

   

0004,  Monday,  23 11. 15

1209,  Monday,  23  11. 15