a candle danced madly casting bitter shadows
who became irate

                               irritated by their shapeshifting  inconsistency      neutered

 

                                                                                                                                           what did they expect

they were in the attic of an old wood house

they didnt have to followed him inthey were thick if they didnt know itd be drafty

  

which was what he dug about the place  

                                                                   or any place not hermetically-sealed like a coffin

 

it was unlike  diametrically opposed  to modern office spaces their sharp cookie-cut buildings pumping heat and airconditioning(an swill) through ceiling vents  forcing those inside to breathe recirculated air(chewing someones discarded gum)  a transcendent technological solution to be applied to new home construction(cancer replete) 

this   old   house   breathed

it was the internalisation of Outside an in its truest sense   Shelter   which was all human animals really needed

 

it didnt placate their worrisome wants or fuss for luxuries  which made them less  though few of his fellow animals might agree

the breathing  bleeding  went two ways as righteous Systems would

integrally  they sought an equality which was strong in either direction  inevitably  despite the unsullied realisation that nothing was 50/50

                                 except a cointoss

an everything  everyone  hedged for their benefit

unfinished electricboxes an outlets hung loosely from forged nails hammered into a studs

the house was built before electricification

its exterior walls were lined by an array of lead pipes jointed and elbowed

 

wire was threaded through them before they were coupled an hotbeaded

  

then uprighted they were clasped to the walls intact

  

augurs burrowed into its skin

stumps protruded into its interior

gaps an seams were caulked

he ran the cord from the record player to a flimsy outlet

the machine he had played 78s 45s 33 and 1/3s

a metal insignia attached to its wood cabinet vowed High Fidelity

it cost next to nothing

because no one wanted it

although it was enough for him
                                                    THEN AT A SUDDEN a gust of wind rose an howled battered itself against the house snuffing out the candle leaving him in the nights blue light whipped by the bonemoon that penetrated the attic through
a small window at its end  casting its puttied panes as lethal crosshairs on the slatwood floor

in the middle of the floor near this violent inert bullseye hed stacked covered LPs upright inside of tarnished metal milk crates he swiped out of the backs of unattended trucks like his father an uncle before him had swiped ice for their icebox from the icemen an shoveled warm horse turds from the dirt streets fending off other boys for their backyard Victory gardens dropped by dray horses pulling at the head of delivery wagons an two-wheeled carts 

an as the wind stomped the attic several disinterred Russian Dolls staggered among odd paperbacks tossed up onto the top shelf of a rickety bookshelf sitting at the knee wall
they were flattened compressed into disks

their necks and spines shattered                                                                                                

looking down upon them they looked like illstacked coins

the paperbacks beside them jumped an fluttered on the concussion like blind moths chasing the warm bokeh of light that long ago imprinted their memory  now reeling out of their split cracked consciousness

a round antique wire birdcage strung up to a rafter on a nylon fishline bounced

the winds stomping shook the molt from a mummified parakeet like a dusting puffball mushroom as it lay rigid an prone on the cages sandpaper bottom

an the barometer that hung from a nail off a square timber support column saw its needle plunge   its morality shot
angst undivided
it craved a stop gap to quiet the violence

an would happily have taken it in a withered junkies arm

DARKNESS surrounded him

                                              wrapped him closely   an ally     a willing accessory who held its tongue
refused to disparage him

he was encouraged

overhead a parachute silk he hung from the rafters swayed  the envy of spiders

he draped it above his unmade bed  a mattress layered with Mexican blankets

  

the silk moved like inverted seafoam at the seas edge or the claustrophobic unease  détente  miring an unholy net meant to capture shadows an unruly shadows who wanted the net packed away an not threaten their haunts or freedom

he dropped his eyes from the disruption over his head 

he fixated briefly on the bullseye splayed coercively on the unswept floor

then  an agent or benefactor of neither  he returned to what he was doing before the house shuddered

he was strangling Spirit   slowly

slowly turning the volume knob left

taking down Street Worm

until the last he heard
                                     the sparkles from the speakers   the fuzz of a guitar riff    the faint words    Ill be happy flyin on the rooftops . . happy  sayin   how    I     pleasee . . .

earlier  amid the buttermilk candle light he kicked Rare Earth in the teeth
confirming I Know Im Losing You

                                                          having lost him to a Winter Tobacco Road

2352,  Monday,  21  12. 15

0009,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  23  12. 15

Street Worm  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AcTizMq3D3A 

I Know I’m Losing You  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F28X8--2dFU 

Tobacco Road  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFaSih2SRlY