The night neatly sweeps across the noiseless sky.
Stars speckle and sprinkle - the wondrous beauty.
The peace puts all at ease, the passion has been forgot.
Yet hatred hides best in those who heed to none.
The others fume and fuss, forging ahead with plans of ruin;
The sky to them seethes, the stars mere emblems of an empire lost.
Arrows crowd the comfort, and come down hard -
With fiery fervor, they force submission.
The eldest vouch for victory, virulent in its spread.
The wise wonder, what good had been done --
            if only war abstained.
            The peace had been pried open -- broken,
            The wretched hate and rue remained,
            The destruction a deathly token,
            Of vicious victory feigned.

The letters glow –
        twisting fusing.
Words as sparks consume
bringing ash as
blackened paper ascends.

A shadow cast by language.

My brain lies in front of me,
searching for a body.
My body in a puddle,
waits for a command.
He, in my crimson coat,
holds out the pad of notes:

Blood is flowing neatly,
Coursing through – he’s healthy.
His brain seems out of place;

my own lobotomy?

I reach out a hand to take my notes away,
as rods of nothing stop my motion.
( I ) No is all he says –
and laughter fills the air.

No Blood on the Walls:
Intrabody Forces