A Nightmare Wanderer

Gore cools down on the beaks of the sated nightcrows.
Flocks shoot upwards... He'll be their plaything no more -
all too stubborn to lose on this fatal advantage...
World is deep shades of carmine; the thin cloth of bandage
cannot hinder the sight. Lupine wind wails and growls...
He's too proud to creep and too wretched to soar.

Of the days when he was flippant, lucky and witty
almost nothing reminds, just that mocking voice which
stirs the memories... Roads... that lead only to madness
look like awful black scars harshly warped by the endless
choking blizzard of quicklime. The streets of dead city
sleep so tranquil beneath heavy layered bleach.

In this labyrinth the choice of the path means so little...
His companions - the portraits of their former selves
of emotions divested. The snake queen of longing
tells him odd fairytales, sticking frigid fork-tongue in
his ear... Blank pages - obvious clues for the riddle -
fill dark ancient tomes on the grime-covered shelves.

Twisted clockwork has ground bewildered feelings
into dust... Like a bodiless wraith next to him
walks his desperate dream so impassive and pallid;
she could warm up to him like a gong to a mallet
but submissiveness doesn't suit her... Low ceilings,
subterranean chambers, a netherlight beam.

Lulling rustle. Black leaves murmur presages unheard
of approaching tempest that tears and rips.
Every step brings another mistake unintended,
every word is a cryptic and sly innuendo...
He can't cry anymore, but his smile looks so weird
through the callous silk thread that has bound his lips.

30.04.09