(For Joe Pulver)
Weaver of dreams. Eternal
Behind the pallid mask
Sitting on his throne (rust)
The alleyway, wet, dark
Night, thick, puddles from rain
Memories of book owner, grim
Sweat stained shirt, toothless
Cash passed, book slid
Squirmed? Across counter
Opened!! Vistas... Word? Words?
Brightness, land scape so so so...
2 moons in sky? Or is it in the sea?
There she is, holding a lily, so golden.
Dances with love, laughter, smiles wide.
He touches her, silk hair, wet kisses
Of cold! Freezing! God!! Freezing
Wait! Numb yes
Better... So much better
Mouth like cotten. Needs drink
Touches throat. Unshaven for days
Damp pillowcase stuck to cheek
Dust rains down from above.
Like cobwebs of filtere(d) thoughts
No pillowcase, no sheet,
Just silken mask. Clings tight
Like long lost lover. Forever blind
Remembers stumbling. Cold night
Rain washes down. Doesnt cleanse him.
Eyes. Grey faces appearing from windows.
Falls. His throne warm under his frame.
Remove mask. Cannot. Wishes not
Its a spider. Lovingly holding prey
Dark soul screams. No ears hear