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

                       

he had been looking

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

                                                                                                                            

from what I knew of him I would never turn my back to him
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

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

--   Whaddahell    Three times

threetimes this evening

Ya got my attention

Im with ya Im with ya

Awright now 

                    whatcha got to say  where ya goin widdis huh

ONCE  

           in slick oil oozed into a puddle  marbling  rainbowhued  on a twist  lit up by the neon signage coming off the gym

TWICE

            on a tree as he walked past it  caught his attention  lingered  he adjusted his gym bag slung over his shoulder  an outgrowth low on its hoary trunk  sticks of saplings  no bigger round than his little finger  winding braiding themselves together in a thatch

                                                                                           

THREE TIMES

                        on the condensation on the door of the steam room  its therapeutic heat chased two then three men out of the room  nearly one right behind the other  the niggling cooler air from the lockerroom twining in  adhering to the glass  disturbing the hot moisture and etching itself by its coolness

then showering   

                         ruminating on its slender unique appearances  the alertness in its spines and shoulders  the tension  the attitude of its arms and heads  Aware  keenly aware  on guard?

 

the kachinas appearing to him were on guard   suspicious

the three manifestations bore suspicion

hed be blind not to see that

pulling his shirt on over his head his exercised arms and shoulders protested

their protest was also issued with a slight groan which then always made him laugh

if they didnt protest hed beat it back down to the weight room and work them until they did

it was gonna be good to get home

throw on some jazz

fix up quinoa spiced shrimp in the shell and steamed planed vegetables

a mug of hot green tea

he earned it

and evidently 

                      the kachinas did too

he slung his bag over his right shoulder  heavier now   and he headed out the door

 

the rain had lightened to a simmering mist

lights careened madly in all possible angles  off shiny flat surfaces rounded auto bodies and wheel hubs  it shimmered up in the crowns of the trees  subdued on their wetted black trunks and exposed limbs

it moved like surreptitious insects at the umbrae and sheer of the streetlights

 

he liked walking in the rain

as he approached a lighted covered bus stop he recognized a figure outside it  unlit  hanging back towards a row of tall shrubs  their clothing wet

it began towards the sidewalk as he came

--   Hey brother . . .

                         Not your brother  he thought  that irritated him  the assumption identity

the hell he didnt refer to his own brothers as brother 

                               . . . help a brother out . . .                                                                                  

                                                                  Help a brother out  that was as bad as someone asking a favor and concluding the ask with a thank you  assuming youd grant it  when a favor has to be agreed to before a thank you then ought to be tendered

the honeycoloured light cast by the fixtures in the bus stop cut in front of his hooded head  obscured his face  though exposed his forearms  the sleeves raggedly cut away
he held his right arm back

                                                                        . . . a few bucks ought to do it you look like you got a few bucks to spare . . .      

                                       on his left forearm  nearest him  a tattoo

a badly-executed kachina

--   Im not your brother  he spat

                                     . . . the brother came on  picking up his pace

he wasnt asking

                           and in that evaporating second he slipped his bag down from his slinged shoulder bringing it between the two of them

it took the brunt of a vicious punch to his belly

gripping his bag in both hands he banged him bodily with it  then yanked it to the right as he brought his left fist up and caught him heavily on the eye

hoodie reeled

he followed with a heavy right to the bridge of his nose  his head still jacked around from the concussion of his left

hoodie was out on his feet

brother went over like a tree 

 

he was almost grateful for his hood  and maybe  if he had hair  not a skinhead  it might absorb some of the blow as the back of his head slapped on the sidewalk

                                                                                                             he didnt have a cellphone

his hands hurt  there was no give in the handles he held his bag by

What the hell
                      jogging he was probably a little over five minutes from the stop

if the brother came to in the meantime he might beat the cops 

                                                                                                     he might beat the rap

he went up the timbered backporch to his second storey apartment and let himself in off the housekey he babypinned to the hem of his pullover shirt

setting his bag down on the red Formica and chrome kitchen table he turned towards the telephone on the wall

midturn  he stopped    
                                 arrested

he turned back to the table  his bag dripping on it

he caught  something  in the soft overhead light

in the side of his bag

stuck in the side of his bag was a kitchen utility knife

he could make the bus stop in less than five

                                                                       he could

he could give him his knife back

No  he thought 

                        Let the brother bleed

2204,  Saturday,  7  2. 15