gathering dusk shrouds her
her voice pale and drawn
reaches me in a quiet storm of words
pale rider in the salt rain of her regrets
the armour shows the ready malice of intent
but the armour is tin foil
and the straw man fails to show a face
when his laughter is disrobed at its weakness
slowly the rider moves
devoid of expression on its painted face
a japanese folk song plays distant and tinny
as if from a cheap transistor radio
its forlorn singer pleads her knowledge
but the world had no response
but the steady pouring rain

the gathering dusk
he like the common household illustration
of poison control
'do not swallow'
is etched on his forehead
but the epitaph is oh so often ignored
he adjusts his fractured glasses
on the imbalance of his face
and grins the broken line of teeth
a warm inviting laugh full of happy intents
bubbles from within
he looks out from within the battered vessel of his life
and wishes in vain

in the border town
they meet
in the grainy and harsh candlelight
in the broke down cabin
at the woods edge
a pale rider and her now intimate companion
who's waterlogged life now
hangs in the balance of his random words
this is no tale of whimsical musing
this is the narration of enduring pieces of my life
frozen in the moment
and pasted with caricature to illustrate
the methods of madness not my own

she get up from the table
having finished her meal
washes her dish
and melts into the bed
without a trace of her words
or the darkness that she birthed