The sun hung low over the eastern face of the Sierra Nevada Mountain. White, motionless cumulus clouds hung over at 14,000 feet, pasted on turquoise sky. It was going to be another hot day. She'd walked all night, did it to avoid the heat. It was easy for her, being accustomed to moonlight's treks. Her physical efficiency increased with night walks. They were optimal for water and energy retention. The mystery heightened. Her eyes acclimated. The peripheral ability of their panoramic scope widened. She saw things move shadowy, indirectly from frontal's angle, strange things, unearthly. These things like physical, nocturnal animals did not want to be seen, but she saw them unconsciously. They became regulars, as common as the shrubs, trees, rocks and night creatures of flesh and blood.

     Last night she had seen it again, what most of the eastern United States population would refer to as Slender Man or Moth man. "What's the difference?" She asked an early blue-bellied lizard catching morning's light. "They're both dangerous, right?" The lizard performed a push up and squatted prone straightaway as if to agree.

     The apparitions would follow her but thus far had made no direct contact. She didn't fear them necessarily, but she always felt her skin goose-pimple accompanied by a cold chill. Immediately, she would begin praying internally and in desperate moments of mind panic would shout out: "Get away in Jesus name!" When she felt ineffective in her faith's ability to scare them off, she would shout out instead: "Get the fuck outta here, you're not welcome!" 

     Sometimes this approach made her feel a bit guilty for using the "f" word, but she could never fully refrain from using it when feeling the combination of fear and anger. Using the f word seemed to scare them off. Then she would apologize to her Lord and resume her nocturnal trek.

     She was on a mission. Nothing would deter her. No living person, place or thing could ever dissuade her of her objective. For sure no spirit entity would. She'd been scared many times before by real humans much more frightening than the Moth or Slender Man. "Try being locked up in a shed for most of your adolescent life, Mr. Lizard!" She'd left the cute reptile hundreds of paces behind her by now, but addressed it as if it was still within earshot.

My apologies

for the salty tears

and vulgar language

there's no excuse. ...

I treat paper like my therapist,

and get mad

when it doesn't speak back ...

My mind is water

My heart is oil

They won't mix ...

My heart wants sober

but my mind says "why?"

Again,

left without an answer ...

I'm sick, I realize this ...

I fear, there isn't a cure ...

my ashtray doubles as an hourglass,

counting down to imagined brilliance.

that is, until it's written. then

it becomes an insidious cliche,

little bastard brain baby I'm stuck with.

so I do what anyone would,

grab a bottle. and start feeding

until this little written idea starts

looking good again. maybe someday,

years from now, some desperate reader

will allow it to penetrate soul and

conceive something more. probably

a little notion of a mutant thought

with an activist heart, gets the heart

from the reader. As long as it sounds

a little like me, all this word splurging

will have meant something, years and years

from now, long after my ash-fueled

clock stops flowing.