My emotions

Feed through a nozzle,
A silver faucet.

off

and On

off

and On

All it takes is a little twist,
Friction
And they are choked

off

Blind Fate

"Here they come . . ."

"Someone brace the doors!"

"For Pete's sake Hilda, move!"

"I don't . . . no . . ."

"My gods it's a succubus!"

"Can't . . . feel my legs!"

"What's that sound?"

"Sounds like paper being torn . . ."

"Get back you idiots, the barricade is falling!"

"Damnit, I'm out of shells!"

"We have to fall back, we can bust down the staircase once we're all safe!"

"What about Hilda?!"

"It's too late fo-"



. . .



And then there was only the sound of rending flesh.

Innocence cont.

Caiphus: If innocence is relative, does that free the antisocial and ignorant from the bounds of the law?

Moralam: The law is absolute. Innocence may shift, but it merely orbits that great star of government.

Caiphus: Which then is to be preferred; the relativity of innocence or the immobility of the law?

Moralam: Between the two there lies a balance.

Caiphus: What is this balance?

Moralam: It lies in mercy, in forgiveness, and in grace. It is not in human nature but outside of our selves, untainted though they may be, that this balance lies.

Caiphus: How do I achieve that balance?

Moralam: I cannot give you a set of rules to follow to reach it, for that would be doctrine and self-defeating. Nor can I tell you that balance itself is relative, for that would be tending toward another ironic extreme. Balance may be learned, but never taught.

Repetition

Moralam: All things repeat.

Caiphus: If that is so, then what incentive do we have for engaging in anything?

Moralam: Pleasure and pain my friend, the human experience.

Caiphus: But what if I do not wish to live life as a man?

Moralam: You will still die as one.

Turn Up

Twelve iron monkeys,
Dance at midnight.
Only my voice and yours,
Fears silence,
But cannot fight.
And so they dance.

I cannot feel,
I cannot think,
While on mindless automatic,
And yet our thoughts are shown and shorn,
By effervescent static.

Still onwards do these apes decry,
That sunlight ne'er shall surface.
While bare feet tap a message,
On the coolness of the dew.

Absence makes for
Awkward words,
So cautiously rejected.
Somehow I've become immune,
To joyousness infected.

T'were an angel or a demon,
Come between us in the end,
To assuage our conversation,
Twixt an enemy and friend.
Between a lover and a poet,
For the start and for the end.

For you,
My lovely friend.