stepping over the dead mans body
still holding the bone-handled
hunting knife
in his bloodied hand
that killed the man
he searched his conscience
he searches it for their names labels their
differences
his life the dead mans
the reason
the provocation
murder
at least that much was evident
at least
that much hed admit
also blatantly a hard admission these living thoughts on the
other side
were only his
had he been the dead man he
honestly he reverently
believed
this dead man would not have
scratched his head
questioned his conscience
about killing him
hed seen it when the
others numbers were too many
too many to have stood a chance
against
too many to dare stand against
their eyes
they wouldnt look for help
they bore their eyes into the
chest of the nearest murderer
not
relenting
hed witnessed murders
and later
buried what remained
conscience
a tricky thing these days
he grabbed a handful of the
dead mans shirt under his wiry beard
the stiff dirty beard made his
naked wrist itch
he dragged him off to the side
of the dirt lane
dingy grass and weeds splitting
where tire treads once ran
the land fell away there to an undergrowth
into a stand of
trees where their heads nearly touched the leaves
clean and green
he turned the dead mans body
parallel to the lane
undid his belt
yanked it free
stuffed his hands
into his pant pockets and strapped the body with the belt
he tied his shoes together with
their laces
it would roll
with a hand at the dead mans
shoulder
the other at his hip
gripping him hard
he flung him over into the
grassy descent
the dead man seemed to roll for
a long time
long enough to return to his conscience
to search it for
their
names labels
the justification for murder
absently
he walked down the country lane
cut free a small bough from a
small tree stump facing away
returned
brushed away the scene
he cut away grass tops covered
in blood
he scrapped the earth with the
soles of his boots turning it over hiding where blood pooled
the whole while preoccupied
searching
he walked up the lane
a kilometer he guessed
walked out a couple of hundred
meters and circled back back past
where he murdered the man
then a couple of hundred meters
more
squatted
hidden
a vantage point from where he
could see up and down the wiggly lane it looked like a maggot
he was sure the dead man had
people
and even these people
had some semblance of individuality
outside their hive mentality
he always searched his
conscience after a murder
despite
his conscience conferring their names labels
it was habit
a forlorn habit a bad habit he knew that
he gave the man an
opportunity to walk away
every man he murdered
he gave them the opportunity to walk away
a bad habit he
knew it
then turning his back hidden from sight he pulled his blade
they lunged guts unprotected
itd become an old dance
feiging fear
seeming smaller than he was
begging Please please cant we go along on our way
Please
no one came from either
direction
the stars began their pinprick
appearances
the birds had roosted
bats fluttered hungrily
there would be enough moon
to see by after it rose
hed walk away then
Are we agreed now his conscience asked
If you wont agree hear me
The men and women you have
killed
not murdered
killed
They were cannibals
And whatever you are
You are not
an
owl cried
he
hadnt heard an owl in a long long time
Monday, 29 7.
13
1119, day-between-2-Ts, 19 4.
23
