Ariadne's Thread

Testament

vacantly romantic

or deeply woodbine

stricken inside with desire

hidden enemies destroy

golden rings

tied on our hands

as you were in me

this time, this place

but that of two

not so much as one

countries weathered in fear

while these days pass on

decorated with wandering colors

do that with not, in you

and hang on, to this life

as you could believe

in a ghoulish monster

driven and bionic

twirling up

waiting nether your bed

to place his teeth into skin

to hear your scream

not which is, but that

which is not

you are

as drinking from rivers

pleasing to the tongue

to save yourself a return

where your house is full of lock

rest, now, be patient

and learn

though troubled as i am

passing wander

dead wood elk

as victory elder would

into

this forest

but surely not pass out

wading amid these

creeks and streams

water to cleanse your enemies

you pushing toward the yellow lines

streaking the sky

with your finger

wanting so much to touch

or leave a mark

with the trembling paint

dripping from your brush

and as painted as were

you too

washed and clean

cleansed from the iron

tainting your skin

now

seeking these trees

bound to the funeral, held

fine at night

with a hand felt hand

now where to be seen

going back to

the tomb, deep not as you

might be

pressing full and pressing a head

into sight

cat fight wild

just remember who you are

with a palette under one arm

and a bottle under the other

held too close to you

street signs now gazing

and complexion always reminding

about millennium

and the times not outside

a mirror or royal flush

right down inside

the pipes and rivers

raising minds never ending

but only to stop

battle on

with claws unfurled

to your cloth

tearing

scaring

and the monster now bending

your body crushed

in this world not

as your feet slowly uncurled

to notice another man standing near your body

cold and wet

empty and design

too late to be

that one who saw

staring back at you

and smiling back at me

with her

the rain soaked picture chalk

of an image we once drew

our portrait

with the skies filled with heaven

calling tall

into the inner space that is

our world, we once knew

something in burning hatred

grew

tethered with sensor

so imbued with rage

through the corridors

stinking of heat and disgust

not yours

a stench

but that of enemy

full and upright

headed through the horror

vertical and dust

to the horizon spilling onto tomorrow

to the zenith's latch key gate

high, in the whirlwind white sky

a blaze of fashion

through the seasons sought with change

this child lies asleep in her bed

while all around her feet