~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: XXIII~

WordWulf By WordWulf, 18th Mar 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Letters

~ let’s recreate the world ~ the palace of conception is burning ~ Jim Morrison ~ morality as anti-nature ~ Nietzsche ~ If you need to be happy, I'll be your smile ~ Charles Manson ~ to the tintinnabulation that so musically wells ~ Poe ~ chains of authority~ peace be damned ~

~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: XXIII~

~A Place Named Hot as an Oven~

I looked into his eyes, your ex-husband, my lover. He looked furtively away and into those of his new woman. Then you walked away with him and the court mediator, a caricature, kangaroo.

Seven shades of empty, boot-steps hollow in the hall, I fought back the urge to howl, listening to the banter of witnesses, constituents; I don’t damn care. The bailiff comes to warn us, dares us to piss him off.

You were given an appointment to set an appointment and orders to attend a class on behavioral expectations at said appointment and then I went with you to stand in line in a room where I found his eyes.

I felt the devil in me, the part of me that knows courtrooms, jail cells, and cops will never favor me
in their judgments and decisions. You’ll hire an attorney and throw money at him.

What’s a body to do, drive away, a thousand miles, contemplate universal transitions. Satan’s in the back seat, pissed because he wanted to stay, wreak a bit of havoc. I refused to let him drive.

Well, life owns us, doesn’t it? What good are we without it? Your love is a golden ring. I am a man without hands to grasp, to hold, to win in a fistfight to the death, in a place named Hot as an Oven.

~Tom (WordWulf) Sterner~
~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: XXII~
~Death Chords on the Dark Guitar~
~Curse of Days~

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