~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: VI~

WordWulf By WordWulf, 26th Feb 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Letters

~trees through the window~shaking medusa heads~the snake is long~seven miles~a rich woman’s son stole his songs Doris~the monster Zarathustra~put your head between your legs~kiss your ass goodbye~for the love of a woman~Nazi disguise~boots & lies~

~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: VI~

~Cave Jams/Suicide Promises~

Remember me in your days to come as the man of seven summers. Your words and girlish excitement ignited a frightful explosion in my heart. A bowl of strawberries and a beautiful woman, I had no idea what they meant. In the forever of my life they will wear your name.

Sorrow is a tempter, a loaded gun. Loss is the finger on the trigger. Equanimity demands sanity, equilibrium. Being sane and sensible drives me crazy. The inmates are running the asylum, arming our children and stealing our faces. I am the mad beast howling at road signs.

When the night pulls its masque o’er my face it is ten ton terrible to be alone. The monsters in my brain are afraid. They send minnows out through my eyes to chew holes through the fabric of darkness. Life is a flesh-tone shroud we wear to fool the mirror and the face of death.

There is a place where only we go, you and me, woman. When I am away from you as I am now and go to that place I am not so lonely. Though alone, it is good to always know that you are there for having been there, never far away for the same reason.

The churchman has opened his door. Its shaft of light divides my face. He chooses sides against me to support his religion, a proprietary bent toward you as if he hails from a house of Lords. Fear owns the loose juice of my bowels, the price I’d pay to do what must be done with him.

I favor songs about hearts of stone, the impenetrable forest, man’s id of trees pounding his breast and stomping his feet, howling epithets against the feral night. You step nimbly through the seven of my senses, frail and quick-footed, nude dancer. Woman, you are a twelve pound hammer.

~Tom (WordWulf) Sterner~
~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: V~
~Farewell Captain Charlie~
~Christopher Early~

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Comments

author avatar Rathnashikamani
27th Feb 2011 (#)

Hey, there is a whole good piece of poetry in this prose.

Sorrow is a tempter,
a loaded gun.
Loss is the finger
on the trigger.
Equanimity demands sanity,
equilibrium.
Being sane and sensible
drives me crazy.
The inmates are running the asylum,
arming our children
and stealing our faces.

I am the mad beast
howling at road signs.

Reply to this comment

author avatar WordWulf
27th Feb 2011 (#)

There it is!

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