The Best Thing I Can Do

Hungry in the dark of night, in the dead of night, the dread of night, under unfamiliar stars, hunting for something. I don’t know what. Maybe the missing moon, maybe advice, maybe guiding stars or ancestors or answers, an escape, a reason, more time, an insane flower, hidden from the sun, overflowing with silver night perfume, blooming for moths and bats, petals made of pearls, shining spines, sharp as a whip, spiralling planets spinning towards predetermined destinations, and all I can do is watch, hide between the rocks, ride lizards, wait in secret caves with rattlesnakes for lullabies and wishes for comfort, spiders for companionship, venomous, ultra violet scorpions for protection, nothing but my own heart for warmth, hoping, beyond body and blood, growling, howling, under the covers, under the cover of darkness, stones underfoot, footfalls unsteady. I am not yet ready. I am as gray as the ghosts and the grass is as black as beetles, everything in silhouette, drum beats throbbing in the heat, a wild web above my head, beyond the clouds, featureless, frightening, resonating, haunting, undaunting. A handful of smoldering sand covering the ashes of the breath of an owl, a siren’s howl, invoking the rising tide, trying to keep it all outside, trying to take it all in stride.

Trying to escape my pain, eyes wide in the wham bang, hologram landscape, taking off, landing, demanding, meandering, marking time, cursed, off course, a scream the color of steam, a hand without a sword, a voice without a word, sounds never meant to be heard, nothing left but a skeleton, raw, a mask carved out of a giant’s claw, with a double row of metal teeth, unflattering, chattering in my clenched jaw.

Under the circumstances, just between me and you, I think the best thing I can do, is just wake up.

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