hiding from the sun

these people, they are dreaming of him still

seeing him before the sun peeks and haunts with a promise of a cleansed new day

— they don’t want one

— don’t wish for the cleaning away of his being took from their smiles and their nonchalances on that hour of sarcastic and heartless shadow

they want to be angry for a while more

it’s their right, they believe

emotions are skyscraper clouds that don’t knock over easy

you go out while four and full of smiles, to play with your ball, to chase the sillhouette of butterfly and slug.

nobody expects you won’t walk back

childhood is supposed to have force-fields around it, right?

but the back side of photographs tell a different story sometimes

perchance you catch the laughing of that grotesque sprite in its immagical regions of offlight and mischievous strange permissions. A song no tide can rush away from your ears.

those regions of confusing death-lust and mystic dispair.

you hang upside down from a floating gymnast beam, so high above the waters and land with no soul beneath you. You don’t remember climbing there. You’ve done nothing but fall since it happens.

all is quiet as the dreams harrass and keep you. But noises linger. they always do.

even among the deaf and the dead.

the laughing, it bothers you.

but nothing compared to that growing cavern of planet-wreck expanding in your endless capacity for pain and question.

force field is a nice myth for those who have not met the quiet darkness.