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Through the midnight alley, he seemingly fritters
With red-lit embers and gleeful priding strides
Eyeing shadows which wretchedly, wincingly vanish
Mocking him with disdain and false pride
But confident in his wits and smiling in his head
A different scene played through his mind
“Those shackles cast, yet dreary glisten
Emboldened by tears in which all hide
Was I too once alas meand’ring servant
To boss, landlord and the like
Each day making payments on existence
With deposits of my mortal flesh
Twixt daylight, moonglow, aye, all through ether
Run ragged by both birth and death
Until I breathed by chance the misty freshness
Of life’s emboldening, wild sea
And encountered with senses anew
In a love unabashed
An untamed earth for me
Each of her breaths I savor as the tend’rest morsel
And my eyes embrace the endless expanse joyfully
For I know not where I’ll float in this ocean
And each outgoing rush carries doubt
But if I hasten my passage with fortitude and reason
The open depths of life wait for me.”
So off he goes, anxious for trials and glory
He floats on legs which he rows with his dreams
Which serve as a map to solace for those who may not falter in aspiring
Youth’s bitter, tormented and forsaken moments
Linger on past their welcome
Freezing leaves with their wintrous foibles
Leaving nothing to the imagination
All is as it was back then
And pity is procrastination
Zarathustra told me "be calm"
And gently folded closed my eyes
“There’s no depth to escape from
There’s no eternal prize.
Your wire was our bridge, dear son
Above the raging current of man”
No, wise one, say it isn't so
Will I balance again
Above the glistening, crystal waters?
Please tell me that it doesn’t end!
“Be calm, dear son, you’ve neither
Lost nor won
Your trials will soon be over”
Why do you carry me into the night?
Why am I in the trees?
It’s cold here, friend!
Don’t leave me here afraid, dark and lonely
“Relax, and breathe,” he said to me
“It’s begun to end" and raised me upward slowly
I’m propped atop an arbor burial
Like a dead-egg’s nest ready to die
Before I realize to my horror
As the bi-ped's shadow awkwardly trots off
He was a stranger and my friend,
Regardless, Zarathustra's just another guy!
"On mine honour, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is nothing of all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul will be dead even sooner than thy body: fear, therefore, nothing any more!"

The man looked up distrustfully. "If thou speakest the truth," said he, "I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal which hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare."

"Not at all," said Zarathustra, "thou hast made danger thy calling; therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy calling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands."

~Nietzsche
I think what’s happened here is miscommunication
Or something of the sort
A failure to compromise, or a lit fuse too short
Some simple, unavoidable misunderstanding
Of something hardly usable
That can’t be super-glued or monkey glued
Or any type of glued
Just listen: I’m not supposed to be here
I left so long ago
That place where what you think matters
That place where I listen for your words
We’re non-incommunicado, just in the reverse
Sure I could have said it clearer
But the phrase “it’s over” is overused and terse
I prefer my way, my place
Where I whisper “I forgive you”
Even though neither one of us is hurt
Except me
Where I’m hurt, and it matters
From space the earth’s veiled nighttime is not glorious violet.
We know because there are pictures.
But eyes shielded by a woman’s hands forbade the man resisting this notion.
What other color is thick, velvety suede, when it can’t be caressed by vision?
What other hue could the universe be in the moment its embodiment withholds it from you?
There were others, surely; in the houses below surrounding the round building’s roof.
But the smell of modest, floral perfume and finger bones perched on top optical nerves makes that thought irrelevant.
He stood with her, having clambered together, before she divided herself from his sight.
They were both aware of ambient, translucent fixtures, but were unnerved by their subtle hum and the prospect of being caught.
As they stood beside the edge with him reaching backward to touch her, what she saw with arms draped around his neck was an alignment of heavenly bodies in the sky, to the blind man conveyed by apt, moistened lips.
Regretfully, he can only imagine now what she must have seen, recalling her warm tongue, slender fingers and the comfort that smooth skin can bring; he’s left wondering.
Where was each dot in its choreographed performance?
He wanted to know how they’d gotten where they’d gotten, and more pressing to him was why.
He was utterly consumed by a frantic urge to put each minute astral feature on a map and chart their course back to that instant!
But mania gradually diverged to sullen despondence, and his payment of devotion for her passion forced their bodies from the sky.
Most nights now, stars go unnoticed. Because they’ll never be the way they were.
Because earth is purple, because air is fabric.
A feeling of guilt from my past
An inkling that this just won’t last
A look from the mirror
Yesterday’s smell on my clothes
Your smile is mixed in with all those
That I never was
That I’ve always hated
Just ideas
Two ninety-nine in hand can purchase
Straight razor, cream and means
To hide the relics of the human race
Within trimmed hedges and metal gates

Although nature’s Peter Principle
Took man to somewhere new
Various climes and unsteady minds
Allowed life to break through

Then contrary to our instincts
In one morning’s moistened grass
We see reflected what we could be
As foreboding clouds float past

The haggard beast within seeps virtue
From holy soles and weary eyes
With will to vanquish and to end you
In order to avoid this banal strife

His trash-sifting gastronomy
Beyond your view and mine
Contrasts with this frightful luxury
In which we for adventure pine

Though he’s the savage, king of Uruk
Never you, much less me
What he’s seen and what he’s been through
Are what we strive to be
MMX

Gilgamesh... a fairytale
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