his blistered claw marks on the tarmac
lead from burning horizon
to the chlorine haze of the motel pool
where she lay in a barren repose
one string of her bikini top lay broken
but the slow pace of events gives no rush to repairs
she simply languidly sips from her ice tea
and bathes in golden sunlight
while he waits his just deserts as her footstool
muttering a shapeless version of complaints
but i see his worried expression
i know that his assassin commentary
under a different name is still a paper thin lie
the world has never known darker places
than the souls of men
and the devices they set to toil in their name
even fates twisted clown must pause
to consider
the weight of his thorny crown
for the eyes of a thousand lost souls
he has influenced are upon him
and you cant negotiate the stain of the past
once it has set
you can only spend your days rubbing
misery into its spreading web
i lean down and slip him a simple note
turn back the page brother
of the inglorious fates
and in these dwindling hours
of our old age
let us forgive our youthful selves of transgression
and as i depart the motel for the last time
i see the blistered claw marks
of his steady decline back to the burning horizon