He says he wants to be a city planner. Wants to build things. Things that don't go together. Things that don't make sense. Pyramids upside down, floating buildings, a strip joint next to a church. And I know he'll find himself a place to live. That place to build. In a truth of man, never a truth of mankind.

So he blew up of his rock on a rocket ship, left Anomie, now heading towards Anarchy. That's where he's meant to be. Where they should have raised him. Anarchy's no building rules. Even more so – no truths. He's of that same structure. Blowin' up from his family and friends. Blowin' up from his girl, his entire world. Seeking out his true passion. The one deep set inside him. The one that never left.

That one was born after his birth. As a child, visiting New York City, there were no rules. None to their gravity or structure. He was raised to sell insurance, but understood their architecture too well. Always had. Traveled the city often.

And they'll say he's a genius. Limitless ability for building things. Things in the present, so he doesn't build for the future he moves. He's followin' no guidelines, there's none that he should. None of their rules could lead him like his own.

He says it's about the strategy, less about the tactic. Not about how tall or long of what he wants. All about the resources and where they're placed. The way he needs them used and when. How well he will when he's penniless. A mental checklist.

So now he's flying to Space City.

No one to lay with while I dream,
The road to take us alone,
Paved from our memories,
They become me,
Light runs off,
Eyes shut,
Gone,

Under the floor I jump into,
Their faces wonder above,
Their shouting is quiet,
My words finish here,
Nothing can join,
None will leave,
Fires shut,
Spring,

Their graffiti mars the bone bridge,
This dark passage holds me here,
The rain rusts my being,
Your luggage in mine,
Clutching my soul,
My anger,
Our aim,
Clean,

I don't care much in knowing how this monster was born, I have detailed case files on its existence and I know its patterns very well. I just want information on how it can be found and killed.

To **** any normal monster, all you must do is set it on fire, stab it with a stake, and shoot it with a silver bullet. However, it is nearly impossible to **** a true monster. They are much too practiced with their lifelong art of darkness - its mechanization through deception. Naturally living in shadowy places, they have strategies that work intrinsically against your police background. This monster you speak of – it will drag you from crime scene to crime scene, blood splatter to blood splatter, hoping you turn towards the light of the wrong evidence. Too many days, months, years have passed, it will know the planned escape route perfectly. Every true monster's greatest enemy is the light, however, its very survival depends on the shadow the light creates. You could shine your brightest and try to catch it in the act, but those walls will be marked by your monster, already running in the graffiti of a victim's blood. You might even catch a couple look-a-likes, the ones that are too young to know of your patrol patterns, too naive of their rights not to break under your torturous questioning, giving you useless answers. But that one twisted, maniacal ******* you're wanting, Detective? You'll have to find it while it's resting.

So if I cannot **** it in action and must find the monster while it rests, then it must have a home. What distant cabin of the marsh will it dwell in when I am there to capture it, to take it in chained for execution, to become this town's most needed hero?

For a monster to be born-

I told you, I do not much care in knowing how this monster-

But you see, the cabin of its resting place is the very cabin of its birth. If you wish to capture this true monster, the one that has lead to your own path as this department's chief detective, then you must trust me. You must listen, for your monster's cabin is owned by another.

Go on, then.

A monster cannot be physically born, it is merely a by product of the dark parasite found in a shadow. Anything that shines light has a shadow. One can never fall into their own, thus you must be forced into a different shadow for the darkness to find a carrier. Once inside, the parasite will aim to become its master's keeper. It will dig in search for the creature's light source, causing excruciating pain until it kills the host or disconnects the light. Once it takes over, the monster is born, taking it back to thrive in the very shadow it fell into. The cabin you seek is the exit from the shadow of another.

So to destroy this monster I seek, I must find who's shadow it once fell into? I must find the child this monster once was and pull him through the exit when he's resting. But where will I know to start?*

Continue painting. The sun is almost up.

I am the heart surgeon's hand,
working on his audience
in cardiac arrest,

But this *****,
it's beating,
slowly,

I need to
speed it
up,

Actors
surround me
in latex gloves,

***** and cut
with utensils
I pick to ****.

The Epi,
The Myo,
The Endo,

Three layers
my gloves
must fold under,

We must
prevent
sudden cardiac death,

To notice
drama
through superior atria,

To hear
oxygenated emotion
through the body,

As long as they're breathing,
hearts pumping,
the performance is at play.

I've studied the chess table and its consequent game. I know every inch of every square and what each can provide without doubt. I have seen the creatures of this world conflicting in their natural habitat, like an audience to a drama, watching them devour each other until the math proves the premise on a single side. I've moved according to their stride, like a dancer's partner, gliding across this checkered ballroom floor until the truth sets in stone. It's simple dialectics, a move is made and then, from the other, another follows. White conflicts with Black and Black counteracts, a perfect unity of opposites. Never jumping ahead of themselves, one piece at a time, it's a rising exposition from White's first movement forward, a heat creeping in increments on the desert surface. They're each a step ahead at every moment, each a worthy opponent for the other. The cold, morning mirage becomes blistering afternoon and only once does the volcano erupt from boiling sand, truly agape in a fiery victory. Do you hear that power in the distance?

A horn bellows and I move in the wake of the Divine Voice. I am but a cleric for his queen, yet the king requests my service in these grave times. This foreboding feeling leaves me truly afraid for my life, however, like a snowy dove's feather, I am called to the wind with my brethren towards the direction of the evil swamps. God has blessed our devout; the witchcraft of the Black Kingdom will surely fall to His mystic weaponry.

A farmer's strong-hand makes no strongman in the abysmal depths of this marsh. Tilling the land for fallen comrades, the breath of the Black Eye leaves me entrenched in a dripping terror, coating my lungs in a bitter molasses. I contain my sultry pearl of abandonment in the Clam of Defeat, knowing the king's life to be the insurmountable jewel I must truly protect. The following torture would be an endless excruciation heard from every corner of the world.

From afar this looking tower I notice an encounter of mild defeat. A white knight on horseback casts his sword into the chest of a young peon boy standing guard for the King as he leaves the gates of the Black majesty. The boy cries out and the embers from the magical weapon envelope him in ash. The king needn't make haste, after all, the armored fool is frozen in awe, staring at the remains of his powerful encounter with the child. The half daemon looks to and fro as he skims across the moated bridge. He grabs for the golden kryss at his waste and slowly stabs between the break in white armor, freezing it solid. The blood runs quick on the fallen honor.

She's traveled far from her black caging, ripping down from the sky like a dragon. The wind blows a bastion out of the sand in my protection, but she ignites it with her icy breath, stagnating all those inside, moving ever closer to my advantage. My last warring cleric triangulates a teleportation to the town square, fighting a harrowing defeat that lends her to me. His bravery leaves her chained in physical combat with a half deity, however, she smirks as if the war is already won. I tighten my gauntlets for battle as the flying arrow passes my helmet. Oh my great men of war, your weight is on the wrong side of the world. Now it spins out of control. Eclipsed in madness, I send the eruption beneath her, encircling her in rising doom. She cannot escape her molten grave, neither does the arrow shaft merely graze my heart. Everything is hazy. Everything is dark. It is late in the hour, hearing the Devil's whisper say:

“Checkmate.”

Her eyes jaunted through my
Oppositional ghostliness,
Her hair screams “soft” in my
deaf but imaginative hands,

Her wineglass-visage stripped
My hollow strings of anomie,
Her uncorked skin spraying
On my lust-parched and sobered soul,

Her moonstruck glow poisoned
The rivers of my reveries,
Her poise dialectic
With wonders of the infinite,

Her breathe is shattering
The nihilistic love below,
Listless ears loosen by her
Magnetic harmony, “Hello”

This city, man...
This city one BIG icepick, ya here?
Been walkin' round these streets,
trippin' these glass sheets of ice
the past SIX blocks,
*******, man?
not a single cab picks a fool up round here...
Where those bustlin' business men go, huh?
Where that friction now?
What bout those tan-legged,
princess barbies?
their DOGS in their purses,
their cellular phones chatterin' n' ****?
Where those ****** run off at?
They hot at the ***** bars now or somethin'?
HUH?
You know wha man?
**** that.
I walk this way every SINLGE morning,
twenty blocks UP,
twenty blocks the other way...
I'm walkin',
******,
and those buses and cars WAILIN' they horns,
WAILIN',
SHOUTIN' each other
the SECOND the sun starts shinin',
SHOOTIN' heat each other till' darkest of **** night...
That's what I wanna know...
Where those *******
RIGHT NOW.