October had been hard. November was harder. It was a haze of Hells Bells and broken dreams.

Picket fences fell and heartstrings were frayed. We lost ourselves,

In grief and strength and something people might call courage.

I saw your eyes that night. Angry and Hurt and all I'd done was search the room until yours had met mine. A steady nod.

From you to me.

I shrugged it off

Straightened my spine and dismissed the awkward tension.

Awkward and scared and confused.

It wasn't what we'd planned

Who wanted more awkward goodbyes or backroom fucks?

"You'll figure it out," I thought. Some after thought on a Louisville night.

I looked at her, teary-eyed and desperate to draw me back.

Lucero was playing, when I stepped away.

Two songs before, I was holding a drink. Some Percocet dream of forgetting October and getting through November.

She was holding onto me as the band struck an AC/DC chord.

Tear stained eyes and too much regret,

I shrugged her away.

She'd missed the moment, I thought.

and I had ran to you. As if all could be forgiven. Forgiven because you understood the guilt inside of me.

Because you accepted that October had been hard, that it had splintered off inside of me.

Like a boomerang of helplessness and defeat.

She was searching for me through the crowd and I was pleading with the disgust in your eyes.

The stage door closed and I was alone in my madness.

I ordered a Woodford, double shot, and I doubled down.

Louisville suddenly seemed messy and too far from home. Too far from that guitar shaped Tombstone, in that family plot...too far from the numbing ache in my ribs

And too close to forget.

So a threw another back and walked out alone.

Just me and A Jefferson County skyline.

A rattled mind and reefer in my hand.

I can't tell the number of times I have broken into my own home, my car even.

It's a theme, to be as if always on the outside, missing something. Denied entry.

Hah perhaps, even Death will not let me in...!

Regardless, it is the stuff of nightmares.

Doors that don't open. There was something fundamental in the build of the home, the warp of the heartwood that must have started it all. I suppose it was a twisted love, doomed for downfall at inception. The story of unevenly matched souls, a skewed give and take that does not reciprocate, which gravitates in one direction-- a cliched precipitous decline. And hence, the doors and windows, ill-fitted, shutting in on themselves, and admitting neither entrance nor exit. Construction of the house, a wedding present.

I will skip the family history, save to say, that everyone but me escaped and "moved on." Mother had tried to poison Father; but pleaded mental debility and was spared jail time and disappeared into the country. Father died of mysterious illness. Later. Years passed. With neither love nor money, the property continued to rot.

And there was I, trying to make the best of it. There in the white decaying house on the hill, in the proverbial middle of nowhere, always looking over the shoulder...

when the inevitable happened.

I had returned from work, parked the car at the top of the deathly steep drive and lodged the wedge behind the rear wheel as we have always done, as a precaution, ever since one car spontaneously rolled, in reverse, with the family dog inside... As a side note, the two-car garage door was jammed for years now, only operable from the inside.

The front staircase, once impressive in its majestic climb, was now like the toothless grin of a pauper begging for sustenance and looked upon only with pity. Maybe two or three steps still dangled. Climbing was strongly prohibited. And in tragicomedy this was the only door that easily opened and shut. With a squealing laugh of the hinges.

No, to enter the house, routinely, one must go to the rear entrance. It was a steady uphill climb. The rest of the structure matched the stairs. A grand expansive design, and there was no way to see what lie around the bend of the many corners of the structure. Walking around back never failed to elicit heart palpitations for the potential of unwanted human or animal encounters. Or whatever might be lurking...

It was on one such occasion that I was a little off guard, that it finally happened. Turning the corner, I could see a black bear descending the hill. I can't reasonably estimate the distance by feet, noting the illusion of the slope itself, which makes things seem closer than they really are. I guesstimated that I had maybe five or seven minutes, depending on speed and interest.

Heart now pounding, I ran up the three steps of the back porch and tried my luck. The door of course refused to unlock!

Terrified, I realized had one last shot. I climbed up over and down the side rail and dashed to the kitchen side entrance, where there was a sliding glass door. It also was decrepit and unreliable. Sometimes, it could be pulled, if you knew how and the catch on the inside could be pushed down with a pen or stick or knife, from the outside... I was desperate and having a pair of scissors in my workbag, I fumbled and pried my luck.

Yes, I was able to crack the door back just enough... and wedge the blade through... and force it down. Sweating and terrified glancing over to the left, expecting a dark form at any moment lumbering around the side...

Open. Open. Please open. The task was now to lift the heavy glass door up and hoist it backward, because of course it no long slid as it should on its original gliders but had to be manually raised and forced open. Please lift. A little more. Please. please! I was able to manage 5 maybe inches, just enough of gap to get my face through... and as they say, if you can get your head through the rest of the average body should also be able to pass through... I wiggled, compressed and shifted my body, and held my breath to cave my chest. Like giving birth to an adolescent.

I made it inside; now the task was to shut the god forsaken door.

It would not budge.

Not a millimeter. Maybe adrenaline had run out. No one could likely get through 5 inches but still I fought for it like life depended on it... Ugh. Yank, I heaved, pulling up and towards myself. Finally, it lunged forward, and I quickly clasped the latch.

Whew. I slid to the floor. Heart pounding. Lungs hurting. Suppressing tears.

Such relief! for I instinctively felt that I needed to be... locked up.

For safety.

We know perfectly well that bears do not attack people.

Unprovoked.

She is square

by no means small

and for me

always there

and not just

in after thought;

She was pale-

faced and fair

...She is aged

but like film

stars, without

as much decay;

and though we

have moved on

She has not...

Waiting rather

than stopped;

facing out all

that has gone-on

to waste except

the Time with

which we have

been graced...

She was in

our youth like

the Art Deco,

a movement

precise yet

unburdened

with details

as such...

we knew each

figure by heart

the contours

which tiptoe,

as marks on the wall

...even in the dark

though to be sure

we left the little light,

as it was charmingly

called by the door

to the bath

so no one

should fall

Her hands

were by far her

dearest parts

to behold and

when we'd pace

day or night

she would

gesture and cluck

in that tongue

of les objets

tres foreign...

while we, as

he, she or many

soliliquied.

When she came

to us as a sort

of Governess,

she was chic

with no make up

and though designed

for dressing up,

we dared not...

we liked her best

with the rouge

and black liner

washed off.

She could have

stood many a

color no doubt

but those were

the two that

we had in the box

...then we too

grew more

sophisticated

and sauve

with slates

blank and

far off...

I know

she is still there

struck in awe;

stopped merrily

in the long

of corridor,

all the way

at the end of

the hall... faceless

white and square

I've named her

only just so...

after all this time,

our timekeeper...

...Rosie...

Notre horloge.

01.16.23

Inanimate Objects Challenge @Melpomene

Maybe it was First Person, or Second. They will decide, in afterword.

It started with one toenail. I thought it was fine as is; but You, you painted it. As if we had something to hide! So, I cut it to the quick. It grew back, in-grown, and somebody suggested the whole thing had to go...

Gangrene set in, and crept up to the knee. I confess only I was brave enough for operation, which had become so necessary, so vital. You wailed and cried: "Woe is Me." So it was, this tussle with Flesh and Philosophy. Wouldn't it have been better to just let go? Wiggle the hip as with the Nature of it, a little bit... But you, you said, NO. And I suffered it. Cornered, quarentined, alone. No one came out. No one went in. A stalemate, so I suggested perhaps it would be best to _____?

Seperate! Oh no, that you could not tolerate. Even with sharpest skapel, you could not even speculate the pain and mental cruelty it would precipitate. But I, I was clinical. No need to be cynical, said I with antiseptic smile, as I mediated on our belly button after a while. But you, on the other hand, could not endure the silence that should follow, and began to growl and holler. Alas, you were never good with your hands.

So I did us both a favor. I said Tripe is a flavor we both could savor, and I stuffed your face. Yet, you as consumate ingrate began to regurgitate the indulgence, and further try our patience.

Then I knew, there was truly no love or gratitude in these heart valves, and we would need to further amputate here and there. With my PhD, I took the opportunity to practice what I preach, and undertook drastic proactive measures for mutual preventive care. It is understood of course that I speak of mental health affairs. I took a stint and sutured as best I could, as you wiggled and spewed, for our bad blood continued to seep and stew. What could I do? Society being in chronic disarray. I knew we must be perfected; Aye, us, too.

It is why I, fortuitously, had undertaken transcendental meditation--aiming to be in subconscious and conscious assimulation with the articulation of the entire atmosphere. Yet always you saw it fit to interupt us in the midst, advancing yourself with a myriad of thoughts, completely out of place. Asked for peace, you refused to see yourself as anything but part and parcel, and mouthed off in a most profane way. I used the needle and stitched these blubbering lips, though in your eyes I could still see a hatred looking back at me, our protector and defender in this most trying time of need. I thought it best, in an extemporaneous way, to lobotomize and isolate what was left. Though I could no longer see, I could still smell your unrelenting fear and disbelief. In the end, I was pleased to exhale one last perfect breath.

01.15.2023

R.I.P. Challenge @Prose

It finds me....

It finds me every time

No matter how

I've tired to hide

and tell myself

I've intellectually died

Sometimes...

It stalks with a knife

from front or behind,

and I am quickest

to save life

Sometimes...

It creeps upon me

all seductive oh

and it's very hard

to just say no!!

Otherwise...

It lets me think

I can lie fast...

but when I wake

It stares me in the face

Such times...

I deflect I am asleep

but goodness gracious

It converses half-dozed

and takes advantage!!

I swear for Inspiration

there is no clear

route of escape,

It must always be

here or there...

...For when I go

looking in the mirror

and among the silverware

wondering what would

make It a great date...?

Or how It and I could

fake an effortless

impression out

among that Creative

population....?

Then....!

It's gone... off...

unabashed a-courting

and I can SEE IT

....Elsewhere

08.07.2022

Your Writing Habit challenge @Envoia_Emi

At an all night

subway station

where I was

too shortly

deemed

inpatient

a flock

of birds had

picked my brain

with a flattery

of attention

There sat I

dispossessed

of whatnot self

consciousness,

sharing name

and address

...a centrally

parked bench

in a mettle so

reassuring of

anonymity...

Set to observe

most casually,

the wisdom

of our unity

...traverse

Cued windows

in the parting

projected

a vanity

of missed

understanding

...among feet

in a hungry

chatter...

amid slow

moving teeth

All was

consumed

most agreeably

and in a gulp

vanished

suddenly.

2022 AUG 7

*mic test*

Self to see that it all comes down to the nail being hit by the hammer after all has been stated- something passed on and hopefully not bent or otherwise bent~refracted like light with/out no\any Evidence— verifying with a checklist, or sort of note that reveals the shall we say part of the final piece of the puzzle the whole True story leaving no room for any slight doubt|s of the light passing through the main point all the way through the Prism(s)!

*mic drop*

#Prism(s)! (c) 2nd July, 2022.

Everyone wants to be famous,

But no one cares to be talented,

Taking the time to learn their craft,

Most want to be known for nothing,

A personality without substance,

Easily thrown away, and forgotten,

A vibrant face can turn rotten with age,

Sacrificing who they are for the promise of riches,

It's poison to the soul,

One that won't you make you whole,

Contracts that turn you from a free bird into a trapped one, stuck in a cage of paperwork, and signatures

You don't own your words,

Ironically, people want fame until they get famous,

Then they realize the reality of it,

Attention is nothing but false adoration,

People get bored and gravitate to the next thing,

Human nature,

So, be aware of what you are trying to get,

Because it may become one of your biggest regrets.

(*I realize of course the thing is not what it sounds, but here is where I stick my pick:)

He was climbing and sweating. Funny how going up the escalator takes so much effort. He’d taken all the right steps, all the proper precautionary measures… He knew how to outfit; how to fit in; how to stand out just enough to the established yet speculative eye.

But after all these years, today for some reason, having come this far, come all this way, almost to the very, very pinnacle… After having bowed so very low, and groveled down enough for such and such esteem, he now felt a growing discomfort around the collar.

Perhaps his heart was no longer in it? The win: what did it mean? His pulse raced still. A wave of nausea and heat spread across his ample mid drift and a once stalwart chest. A farce suddenly dawned on him in the bright spotlights closing in. Just a few more minutes…

To what? Confusion was setting in. A meeting, yes of course it was! A very important meeting. He needed to prop himself up on all the fragile lines within the building he himself had been so busy building on the back of this who and that deal, and deed, and whatnot receipt.

These stairs suddenly seemed to have so many zombied hands mechanically reaching… from his finely tailored pantleg, to his underpants; from shirtsleeve to his ears… a hissing sound so much like a big balloon deflating, dirigible ...and then he was falling back, backwards, on his bottom, to the very bottom, and someone was stripping him of his Tissot Powermatic and his keys, his last shirt, and now thumbing through his leather wallet. Lies upon lies were cuing in suit, barebreasted as he was, now.

Lights were fading fast. He whispered hoarsely; he had to “make it up to…” but he was in for quite a shock. He might not make it at all... The doors of Heaven of course are closed to the camel’s obsequious cousin who carries more than two humps of baggage.

He’d have to tell the truth. Face the facts. Just once would be enough, to himself, to save this life… Stand clear! And in his darkness, it was soundlessly recognized, the Defibrillator only works sometimes...

06.29.2022

Pick a Word & Pick it Apart Challenge @Last

Like moths in the moonlight,

I felt the goodness flutter

round my left cheek, and

over the flap of my rigid eardrum...

Is it gone now?...

No, I still feel it's residue upon

my beating heart...

it lingers...

You can hear them humming!...

The warriors cry from the other side

of the world, and still you can hear

the drum beat hum reverberate, and

bounce back through the tiny cracks

in the cities conscious mask.

There are those who live beneath

the walkways and avenues...

The concrete is their carapace;

these little armadillo dwellers...

...Perhaps you'll see them in

the cellar of your thought...

...They are not of this world,

but who, and what are we?...

...We're made to step off for the

weight that we were offered,

like a camel fills with water,

but is this Sun our Father Sun,

and this Moon our Mother Moon,

or do we have another address buried?...

Relics bake in desert heat...

The stars above when night moves in

call our eyes into their orbit...

Draw us out like snakes from skin.

Like moths in the moonlight,

I felt the goodness flutter

round my left cheek, and

over the flap of my rigid eardrum...

Is it gone now?...

No, I still feel it's residue upon

my beating heart...

it lingers...

©

9/22/20

Bunny Villaire