he was a man of the cloth a cloth of his own making a web woven by a bitter black spider
who rode
in on a nightmare at the head of a fury of razorcleated horses
I heard that of him
I could see that
I watched him standing atop a remote
hill
rigid and disturbed
he was etched by daylight breaking
behind him and turning grey in its
vapours
hed
been looking for me since last night
I watched him from where I hid
precariously
behind a heavy brush stickled with thorns
I
watched him throughout the night
I could make out the occasional
pindots that flashed off his irises like the light off the lens of a deliberate
camera
like
lightning shocks off dirty puddles as
he swept the 360 degrees of the sallow landscape beneath him
an inveterate watchtower
seeming invulnerable believing
himself immune
he
stood on high poised to either sound
an alarm
for defence or direct strikes by lesser adjuncts who feared him
which for what I knew of him was more likely
or let him game me by a sudden innocuous advantage
he was not latent
the things he spoke of teeming in his skull were unsavory and repugnant
though I might suppose one couldnt expect more from a man who was darkly infected
a considerable pustule trembling near breaking shining and swollen and vile
a considerable pustule trembling near breaking shining and swollen and vile
he could see that in a glass if he truly looked
as he often took himself in
yet he was unaffected and uninhibited
so I did what I did because I
wanted to I didnt have to
he was assuredly evidently
very fond of her
I didnt have to for lack of a better word seduce her
but I did it to
incite him
I
wanted to incite him
Incite him
as much his disgust incited me
besides she
was drawn to me
as much as I was to her
if
asked we would admit our mutual
attraction
but
whose business was it to ask such a
question
why wouldnt we exploit our commiserate
attributes and
bodies
he saw
and
roiled ferociously
not that he had a right to do so
but then he was a man of the cloth
and likely he understood
that it was his right alone
and that sensibility was not lost on me
Id seen his corruption his
side glances before I was ever introduced to him
a wild unjustified look of hatred glaring out of the corner of
his eye
brusque out the side of his face
that he hid when you came up to him and looked him in the eye
secreting
his hand
his
intentions
at top of the hill he trembled
the Dark his ally and enabler was escaping
cheated by the rising sun
he wouldnt dare attempt anything
in light of day
No not exposed
or apparent
the last I heard and saw of him
was a dreadful cry then the stomp of his
heavy boots as he hurtled down the hill past the brush where I laid
he took long strides
his heels biting the earth
descending
he slammed into the barbed wire
strands he had unrolled to skirt the hill and prevent my escape
he
tore them up
unearthed
their posts
and
the whole of it
flashed and bounced trailing in his mad flight
a remarkable train behind its black apex
and before him
as if I dreamed
mottled horses ran snorting
and tossing their dreadlocked manes
AM dream, Wednesday,
4 2. 15
1319, Saturday,
7 2. 15
2152, Sunday,
8 2. 15
