revenge of the... whatever.

When I was still slaving away overe the fryers at the local Wendy's, Bunnyman and I met. Much debauchery ensued, of course, but it wasn't all like that. Most know about the debauchery. Many don't have any idea about the everything else. Obviously there was something, otherwise I wouldn't be with him for going on four or five years. (Never been good at time.)

Anyhow, I was into calligraphy at the time, and Bunnyman and I were talking after work. Everyone had left, and we were in the parking lot. It was winter, and it was snowing. I forget the exact topics occuring in the situation, but suddenly there was a thermal. It was swirling around us, on the parking markers we were sitting on. Everything was warm, with the snow blowing in a whirlwind. We talked, and later I wrote this poem, in calligraphy on parchment. I rolled it up, tied it with ribbon, and gave it to him one night. He still has it. And one day, when an ex showed up, he quoted a line. And I knew he understood it.

This was later read to a full house during a gig back home. One guy back there still knows me as "The Poet". Huh. I don't do it anymore. Yes I'm drunk, shut up. Anyway, here it is.

The Unknowns
(for C.)



It's easy
to predict the weather
when it's the same everyday:
Rainy with a chance
of stardust.
But not much.
You find it less
everyday.

The only dragon left is silence:
immune to the screams
of itself.
Waiting for the teeth
to take you,
waiting for this scene
to fade to black.

But unknown,
they cannot touch you;
unknown these visions
make no sense to even you.
Manifesting dullness,
perpetuating shame,
the falling assist
the fallen in their descent,
but those lost in limbo
can only dance alone.

A release:
the peace of a coming day
a bent horizon
a lost cause.
Somehow, that which fortifies,
poisons;
and nothing but those pinpricks remain,
fading,
the teeth,
and waiting.

No child
should become
so old.



No more beer. Time for bed.