Thick fur and thick eyes. And we are together. Hunched shoulders like a bell ringer of quiet death creeping the rope about my neck. And we are together. Eyes don’t look but see, everything and the mind, the moon above his eye shadowed in thick fur. And we are together. The moon on his eye is his calling and it mirrors and plays off the other one, sliding down his nose witch at first is wrinkled in fear and in curiosity, bump bump, what are you? And we are together. The nose the little curious nodes lead to is delicate and black, a dot among the grayness and sniffs with the searching of a house pet, but the intelligence of himself. And we are together. Ears are for hearing and pointed and sour, caring not and bowing not to fear they listen. And we are together. The shoulders puff out in the majesty of a thousand mountains, great fur leaning back to limber leg and lithe body. Tremble not in the moonlight as I put my hand to you shout and smooth it. Close your eyes and feel me, and we are one.
Guts of the cherry trees float their way down in gory elegance. The blood of the blossoms sticking to my shoes and carrying into the office. The world is a cloud of blood mist released from the bones. The branches in their never ending spew of delicate flakes of innocent blood, it flies and in white mixed with the red to make pink. White crimson goddess pushes forth the grinding brick to layer it in her silken insides in which the children play with the clash of the green turret castle the spider weaving of childhood and monkey bars. The dire sad peeling skin snow with death and cherry touch sinking with the cling to life that the women put in their baskets or bridal crowns and flowers. The world is painted in this malicious way every spring and the somber reapers of the business men wander blindly through the colors. Towards the tunnels where I hide.
There are tunnels in the walls. We go in eagerly and climb, ghastly singing follows us there and we go on and on getting lost in adventure and we do not know where we are going. Perhaps we come across a wolf in this never-ending mind-frame of networks. Does the wolf speak? Yes it does and we ride him away losing the people we started with is not that sad, they can bother something else and the we becomes I, and the wolf becomes I and we and the wolf are I.
I found the tunnels first in a dream and then I followed it on a wind to a place. The place had the tunnels in the walls. There was a women in what could only be the skin of another women skinned and sequined and red, her hair was out from her head and down. The friends I had brought with me wanted to stay and dance and sing in the sway like she was. They wanted to be her when they grew, but I knew we had to go to the tunnels in the walls. We crawled in the tunnels and the business men with the petals in their hats watched us tucking their faces under.
I don’t wait to find my friends after I am complete with the other half, that waited in the tunnels. We ran wild in the night and calm in the light. The moon pulled the wolf and I let it fly. The man in the suits with the petals told me not to. But I did. Shhh Don’t tell them! I can fly when the wolf leaves me. Well, doesn’t leave me we never leave each other. One part of the I sleeps when the moon does and then other for when the sun does. She sleeps. I sleep. Then She does. I’m never fully awake. We are one.
The tunnels are not plastic and red like the ones in the parks that children play in. They were dirty in the dirt walls and they were gritty. We went up and down and up again. Until we stopped at a moonlit grove.
When the men know she’s coming they take chains to my neck and to my wrists. When I lay in the cage I wait for her to come and free me. They can keep part of me down but not all. Not her, not us. They never have in all these years. 10, 20, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I will turn those cherry blossoms to blood when this is over.
