paper

I worship my pen
my only friend
at night we spend a lifetime together
writing secret syllables
expounding the truth of men

my lines flow like
streams of unbridled consciousness
making love with paper
stripping away at my
subconscious
layers

a blank page
an endless white expanse
i am not limited to
two dimensions

when I can see in four
and stretch my
creativity
into that whiteness...

making lines
filling in the nothing
wondering forever in my
muse garden

writing prophecies.

here I have made a house
with
white walls
and white carpet
and a white ceiling
and white furniture
but the door is black
and its handle is like silver
sparkling on its ornate gilded frame

glistening with a sinister smile
"touch me" it says...
"turn me"

my hand replies
turning the chilly
sharp
crispness
of the elated
mechanism

behind it on well oiled hinges
is a grove of green and silver leaved
trees
their branches like grey fire

and in its center is a
black shining pool
rectangular...

its surface slides like
tar
bubbling up sulfurous
dioxide

little fingers skim across its edge
and just below the surface
thousands fumbling
hungry

the dance begins!
and drums of war echo upon
the tiled walkways
the trees begin to sway
in a wind that cannot be felt

the surface begins to stir
and bubbles rise
increasing as the beat grows louder
and the black tar spills over onto the whiter marble
bursting forth with terrible
ferocity
dancing wildly
arms and legs
and fingers
and feet stamping the ground
to the violent beat of hunger
exploding
filth
creeping forth
engulphing me in its
irresistible rhythm
I am taken

as they feel me
grabbing
scratching
tearing at my skin
their hands slide
and grasp me

taking me into that violent pool
spreading on the sticky
poisonous
pungent
liquefied form of fear
drowning in it.