CARRIAGE

Time has arrived in its carriage made of water.
I surface the holy water as it pours out the makeshift door into the cobblestone street.

I am now standing on the soil made of concrete that lines the land of discontent, there are no rocks or rose bushes, not even her fragrance.

I reach my hand out to help her down, she looks at me and weeps.

Now we are standing waist deep, the hardened heat rises like fear, no one bats an eye as we make our way to the festivities.

We're late and the clock knocks on our pace like a boxer behind on points, a desperate rhythm that suffers times fickle count.

We can now hear the music and the water laps at our shoes as we cross the street carved of a flat black steel that makes its way like a snake following the slope and rise of the land.

We are now at the door, the music vibrates at full-tilt.

There they are, a collection of our allowance, coats and ties, leather shoes, dresses and hats, steel toe's going tip tip tap.

We are now within the howling chamber, wall to wall jackals, hound's of hell pour drinks without water or thumbs.

The room goes silent when the music stops. The hound's pour oil from plastic cans fished from the belly of a whale as they juggle knives in the air. Nobody seems to notice the blades are breathing their red slice on the bleeding ceiling.

DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!
DRINK! DRINK! DRINK the water!

The new water beckons Love and Me. We turn to leave too late! The water rushes over the concrete and washes everything into Love and Peace.

Fear is the Great Liar,
I'm calling his bluff...


© 2016 Mark Richard Prime

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