All things bound are not enslaved -

The gray car was the first sign.

Cresting through that evening on Belden,
shipbound by the fog,
obscured by the breath inside,
the vehicle should have told me much.

After there came flowers,
waxy leaved and spotted,
exuding things like promise
along with stifling scent,
always wrapped in paper first,
then fainting
to the floor.

And I should have watched the feedings,
the things stirred into iron pots,
archaic delicacies that spoke to my throat,
of fire,
of bindings,
of reliance.

Certain moths have wings the color of your eyes.

Weren't you warned of the coming of night,
and of mushroom rings that enslaved the dance?
Houses made of bones?

But I had never heard of men with such needs,
or of this soft,
allergic skin.

Timothy drove me in his gray car,
Michael fixed me barbeque,
Thaddeus woke me under his arm,
Francis was the first.

So name the monster after saints,
and wait till day expires,
lure him with your jealous kiss,
'til you're all that he desires.


GLS
9.4.96