pomegranate brain

exposed

by a glancing blow from a machete

that scraped hair and scalp away

and an arc of skull

the damage wasnt enough to kill him

the concussion

was suppressed

by endorphins swaddling the pain

though his rage was inflamed

by the broken glass

staring him in the face where he lay

reflecting his wound

I couldnt be anywhere near him

I couldnt quiet him if I tried

I had no intention of quieting him because I want what he wanted                                   

a facetoface with the coward who waylaid him

clipped him

and was somewhere at this moment

bragging of his kill

to someone who would listen

when the dead cant speak and a killer can

circumstances

demand

to be wrectified

I washed his face

padded and wrapped his skull with weave

I searched his eyes for dull spots

listlessness

but found only red ash glare

you cant quell a besieged spirit 

anymore than you can quench a volcano

so I helped

I recognized itd either be a story to tell to end all tellings

or itd never be heard

except hissed through the teeth of a liar 

Twosday, 21  1. 14

It drove him nuts

people

emptyhanded 

people unbent 

people unoccupied unemployed   

                                                          but not by their un doing

                                                                                                           he crossed the room and walked towards the young woman standing there

alertly she turned to his approaching footsteps and smiled familiarly

of course she would be familiar

hed been in this room many times

--  Whatcha got there

his eyes directed her to her hands

she down looked into them

she opened them very wide

they yawned

--  I got nothing

he smiled

then he opened his buttonfly and slipped one of her cool hands against his belly and

down into his pants

--  Whatcha got there

--  A penis

--  No  Thats called happenis

1455,  Thursday,  13  6. 13

sslick ssoapy water

milk bbubble bbaths

cleavages excited him  the cleavage of lips pursed  eyelids winking  dimples formed by

smiles

those between small artistic fingers  at the backs of bent knees

the warm bbubbles of breasts  taut cheeks  lips – before unfurling

a sigh pressed on candle butterlight

the startled upsuck of breath sounding in a slender throat  the satiated hiss of physical 

exhaustion

there were more bbubbles than he could ever count 

more than he could ever name

more  than he would ever see

                                                           they were the reasons why he kept looking  why he 

was an explorer a discoverer  restless  curious  an effervescent never bored

anticipating the next  unexpected  ssurprise

 

1812,  Moanday, 13  1. 14