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.