he couldnt say what
disturbed his sleep
what rose from the swamp the foggy miasma of his stinking mind
if the generous hmmbuzz
like skin exfoliated
sounding in the depth of his ear
which he couldnt get at with a qtip not deep enough to absorb or wipe out
was It
or if inside his ear what he felt
was It
or if inside his ear what he felt
was something alive unfurling
a larva maturing
a larva maturing
it muttered to him when he tried to
sleep
muttering in a sonorous voice
that should have belonged to someone old
an ancient one
an ancient one
their creaking and wheezing
confiding Do you see?
Wharme lookin
No matter
Anywhere
I didnt encamp here grow here to expect you to look anywhere but where
you wanted
Dont bitch me
Did you see?
he felt it twitch deep inside his
ear cochlear concatenations
beatings drummings
twitches whispers
looking up into the dark above
his bed he saw the ceiling fan shiver
exalt
then one of its four blades began to snake snaillike
extending an eyestalk
then confusiona confusion only an
Inanimate can have
then changing it morphed
the blade retreated reducing
to its original size
a preternatural reversal its
physics inertia silently turned the fan slightly
its ball bearings creaked as
centimetres gave way not so much a
movement as a sigh
a shift arranged to a different perspective
then beside that blade another grew
instead
stretched
to
a hmmm of distortion
guttural
a nightsound one hears but
cannot identify
and listening hard eyes searching for nothing
for nothing ever
becomes of nightsounds because no one truly wants to see those night things
that haunt their subconscious or unconsciousness
that act on the
stages of their dreams where they have the excuse that nightmares induced their
horror as they mangled bodies inflicted torture sadistically ignored pitiful pleas bloodstained pliers squeezed hacksaw blades pushed and pulled and bonedust seeped handdrills torqued and screwed-end bits
bit taking hold boring blood dribbles from scalps skull plates
try to resist long hair twines up dullsteel shafts
the blade elastic
grows longer
until above him in the dark when his
eyes have grown accustom he sees better better
facing
down
it forms a pale crucifix
it flutters mothlike momentarily
and in that forlorn spasm a spark
of grey life
Existence
on its belly where once was a whiteglass
globe it moves
rolls
gently carefully working a kink out of its neck
hair grows
a beard grows
features
a
twisted braid of thorns
crude handmade barbedwire
hanging above him
looking down
watching him as he watches it
a crucified jesus swaddled at the hips with crude linen
looking down
watching him as he watches it
a crucified jesus swaddled at the hips with crude linen
his wounds drip fall
they stain the blanket he lies under
perhaps soaked in cold cold water he might hopefully lift its holy smirch
they stain the blanket he lies under
perhaps soaked in cold cold water he might hopefully lift its holy smirch
Do you see?
out of his dull ear
which he probed with his little finger for many days
irritating him
hed laid in the sun his head turned to it trying to dry it out
out of his dull ear
which he probed with his little finger for many days
irritating him
hed laid in the sun his head turned to it trying to dry it out
it seemed he hadnt
out of it crawled a shivering
bug
it crawled down to the angle of his jaw fluttered its slender scythe-shaped wings
it crawled down to the angle of his jaw fluttered its slender scythe-shaped wings
apparently pleased by their formation and function it buzzed then it
lifted up into the bedrooms space and atmosphere to join with other night
noises he heard
listening
he could imagine someone hearing them
he could imagine someone hearing them
their
hand moving to their heart or throat in fear
sidling near madness imagining the crying beasts
them slithering crawling flying a Hieronymus Bosch menagerie tickled from his
triptych
he closed his eyes
Do you see?
his silent dumb acquiescence hadnt thwarted its voice or go unrewarded
there was an itch at his tricep his arm bared out from underneath his blanket
another itch at his thigh through the blanket
an itch atop his foot where jesuss was split by a crudeformed iron nail or peg its head smashed by a forged hammer
another itch at his thigh through the blanket
an itch atop his foot where jesuss was split by a crudeformed iron nail or peg its head smashed by a forged hammer
not itches bites
the bug fed
the bug fed
turning his head he saw the
clocks red-illuminated display
it was still at 3:44
hed wakened at 3:44
time was unmoved
no matter if he was awake or asleep
it taunted him
he was barely able to hear
it taunted him in the jeer of an
auctioneer
bleating Do I hear . . .
provoking bids
the ante raised
What will you give me . . .
bidders cards raised into the air capturing his frenetic attention
Now I hear . . .
Do I hear . . .
I hear . . .
the bids higher and higher up and up
deliciously tense
expectant
the bidding more lavish
his sleeves held up by garters
the buttons near his throat undone
him lighted by the redhue cast by the clocks display
3:44
marbled like a seething caldera
a splashing volcano pregnant with new stone and sand
a final bid propositioned
(was he asleep or awake)
the gavels wagged
crucified jesus screams
his cross turning under the ceiling like a slow wagonwheel
bleating Do I hear . . .
provoking bids
the ante raised
What will you give me . . .
bidders cards raised into the air capturing his frenetic attention
Now I hear . . .
Do I hear . . .
I hear . . .
the bids higher and higher up and up
deliciously tense
expectant
the bidding more lavish
his sleeves held up by garters
the buttons near his throat undone
him lighted by the redhue cast by the clocks display
3:44
marbled like a seething caldera
a splashing volcano pregnant with new stone and sand
a final bid propositioned
(was he asleep or awake)
the gavels wagged
crucified jesus screams
his cross turning under the ceiling like a slow wagonwheel
the bug birthed out of his ear
fed on his blood
crowded at the edges the threshold
of his bed
things Bosch captured in oils
that were never allowed back from whence they came
because there
were things that remained unseen unrealised
things Bosch captured in oils
that were never allowed back from whence they came
because there
were things that remained unseen unrealised
he tried to close his eyes
Do you see?
Do you see?
now the pliant hiss of a snake
Do you see?
Do you see?
a jetblack spider descends in its
web to spin up its struggling prey
Do you see?
the auctioneers gavel bangs
Sold!
Do you see?
the auctioneers gavel bangs
Sold!
he didnt answer
he refused to answer the Obvious
0344, Twosday,
19 4. 16
