COMMUNION it's not just you and me. the understory needles and leaves inherent in all that surrounds, from canopy to bed, are the synapses that fire across the limbs to nerve endings. don't ask me where to start. the ground beneath your feet is a better place than most. so throw down your stone, sisyphus, ascend or descend. time marches on outside the forest floor (as you separate the roots entwined with yours), regardless of how it seems to slow within, and you turn back to earth (but not in that many words). wait for me, it's such a long way down and you make it seem so easy (not that it was ever hard). who will sing your songs if there arenÕt any words, if thereÕs no tune to hum along to? DAMASCUS when you were young, is this the life you saw yourself living out or is it somewhat a reverse of the picture that you painted in your head? do you become a saint or is "patronizing martinet" the epitaph they'll read when the story ends? you already knew (as if knowing what's to come could stave it off) that you'd lose control. you already know and still you plod along, sera sera, and mumble to yourself. who you were isn't who you are, but you walk a fine line between the two: a concave arc of braided twine, unraveling and slowly wearing through. you've heard it all a thousand times before, so i guess this makes a thousand and one. why do i even waste my breath? you already knew that you lost control and you already know what i'm going to say. THE FISHER KING iÕm drawing a blank. hail mary, full of grace, donÕt let me hang. please, please, please, tell me it ends, iÕm negative enough as it is. i can almost see it nowÉ weÕd lay down, metaphorically: weÕd lay down our lives and some symbolic breeze would blow in through the trees and seraphim would scream our favorite songs. some say i have a gift, because the bullshit flows like fine wine poured from my lips to yours, and so you raise a glass and drink up, drink up, drink it all, you little lush. not everything you touch can turn to gold, weÕre not all worth that much. Òo, wounded king!Ó your servants sing, Òlet the rapture come! till the sweet release of death, place your crown upon our heads!Ó like spinster wives, they weave their lies and youÕre veiled in them, shed like cancered skin, remembered on your knees. take your time, god knows you wanted it. so he delivered it in spades and you pissed it all away weÕre buried by the plans laid out in front of us but we forge ahead. say our places changed and all your plans were turned away, would you still worship me? would you still believe? if i could, IÕd go out like a light. i canÕt help it if i feel my life slipping away with every single word i write. thereÕs no light to shed, but oh, mary pray for us as we forge ahead. KALI a cross, two roads in ruins and the fountain of you in pieces on the ground. the ossuary floors are lined with ashes and dust as mind and body divide. it hurts no more than it should hurt. hallelujah! the static receives and the satellites win until it hurts no more, but you wage a war inside cemetery walls. i can always close my eyes, if it'll open yours until it hurts no more. these worn and crumbling tombs are just burdens to lose along the way. as old and ancient as this world may be, it still turns; it still revolves (for me). when you go, will you go down in flames or up in smoke? it's a choice that defines us all. LEXINGTON AND CONCORD ingenue, it's so sad to hear how the whole world engineered a plan around your every move, but dots connect to dots and neatly form a line. no ordering of words could sum it up just right. jesus christ himself culled you out to take the fall for him? you're such a righteous soul. your only fault in life starts when your feet hit the floor and ends when they come up at night. here you are, defying all odds, true-to-form. just how do you go on? that spark of the divine, in all its subtle grace, is easier to find the further down you dig. godspeed, a.t.s. LORELEI guide your fingers along and pull the seams apart. a brand new artery to replace the dying ones tied to your heart. pray the veins don't close that it might beat again, circulating blood to kiss the outer appendages. there's a lot i'd like to say but i'll bite my tongue. for what it's worth, i'm sorry things turned out this way. there's a lesson to be learned: the scalpel makes a mark in the shape of a 'y,' from shoulder blades and abdomen to sternum (it's the incision that remains). the empty cavities fill with bile, bones with marrow, skin with cartilage. when do love and devotion cease to exist? you bastardized these words and now they haunt your dreams at night while you sleep. shifting pallid silhouettes trace the awning from windowsill to mannequin, from sidewalk and the street to finger-printed glass; the muscles (neck on down) atrophy. this tinted room brings their formless shapes to life and there, as they dance across the stoic figures' chalk-white frames, the shadows illuminate a passage etched into their arms that says 'you deserve it all and it deserves you.' stitch a line straight across the exits and stretch them until the ends elide. sew the edges there, entredeux in between them. the color's all wrong, but i made this for you. the pulse is all but gone, but i still feel it move. SLEEPERS, AWAKE iÕm awake. in the loosest sense of the word, iÕm awake (with just a hint of dust coating my lungs). what is this place? how could we get so lost? inch by inch, the cell reveals and here we lie: arms bent inward, legs a Ôv,Õ halos high. phosphor light marks the ground. a way out means thereÕs one in and, right now, i see neither of the two. today we found its knees, its horizon spanning breadth, its near infinite reach. the compass needle spins. weÕll use the stars to guide and tonight - polaris by our side - our course will be assured. but the longer it takes to leave, the harder it'll be. i am. i am, because you needed me to breathe - like bellows to a flame - and thatÕs comforting to know, but the longer it takes to leave, the harder itÕll be. TEPES impaler impaled, exsanguinated, ashes cast out to sea. as early morning comes, the pyre winds down, the lights die out, but the sun doesn't rise above the shore. its stalling amber rays (as memory would serve the spectators' eyes) ebbed and flowed, in- and exhaled. all in all, the price you'll pay isn't worth the cost. it's so sickening seeing you crawl, but now we're complete. a starboard ray, reborn, connects the ends of the world. the former flicks its tongue, exchanges soot for blood, sediment for flesh, entropy for existence. where's the mask to match the rest? the curtains draw closed, the lights fade in and the stage divorces the man from the cast. and, though they've barely scratched the surface of you, i've always understood, as you know me. we are the choices we make. to whom it may concern, you've changed, you've turned. your fangs may have dulled, but i know how they were. you stole a part of mine, i stole a part of yours. is there some sort of grand design in your little world or do you just let it all randomly unwind? the gears don't turn, but i see how they run. i stole a part of yours and you stole a part of mine, but that still doesn't make this all alright. X AT APHELION tabula rasa. their history now lies hidden underneath: a still, angelic face, held trawling in a wake of waist-deep near-freezing water. sculls interred in silt and dirt (sleeping soundly and firmly anchored) permeate from stem to stern. goodnight after goodnight and on and on and on. karma brings rewards for every shining truth; for every wretched little lie erased. take away the rest and all you've got left is me. i can't help but smile because it fits you to a 't,' because you let them in. keep aiming high! see where i wore a groove, right there in the back of your head (with the palm of my hand)? was that not enough? you've been down for so long, why come up for air?