Was travellin’ down old Joppa Road, during the time that was, the freedom of ’76 and Spinal Meningitis(got me down), so off I chose to be, alone to end my days as a drifter in the dark.
Along the way it came to be, that I met a little girl all in tears. I stopped to see what the matter was, which was when she spoke to me, “My name is Candi, mister could you please help my pony?” I asked her where it was and what the matter seemed to be, and quickly she replied to me, “ He’s over up on Buckingham Green, I know not exactly what ailment he does have, but I heard the doctor sing the HIV Song when tending to him.” His illness took me quite a bit aback, I easily could have truthfully told, that a vet I’ve never been, instead, for what reason I know not why, when I spoke, the words were lies, “Candi, it’s okay, I’ll be your Jonny on the spot…it’s gonna be(alright).”
Up the hill we travelled long, past some minstrels streaming songs, across the narrow stony paths, where a three-seated bicycle drove on past, and then a couple people we did see, leaning over dramatically, a ledge it looked as if, they were going to drop to their deaths. I stopped and before I could speak, Candi alleviated the anxiousness in me, “Mister, It’s okay, nothing new, people do that all day, they jus’ kissin’ the Blarney Stone, please let’s not hurry, let’s not dote”
When we finally arrived, I could see many sad faces all a-stir, but Candi pushed our way right through, past the masses until but two were left to view. A man and a woman stood over a horse lying sideways on that grassy spot. I peered my head down to the girl, and saw but one tear for Eddie did she spin, instead ran with swiftness o’er to him. I began my slithering back, through the crowd, retreatin’ to that long and winding path we just came down. But something still seemed off to me, I whispered to myself, “I can’t put my finger on it,” but something here does not make sense. Perhaps it was Eddie’s polka dot tail, or that Voodoo lady with the golden eel, I didn’t know, but should’ve left, this now I do now know.
But as cold blows the wind, I returned to the girl to see if she’d be all right, after all I promised her that, twas a lie but she was unaware of that. On the way to the tike an aged man came rumbling near, spitting words with a violent flare, “ You, you have no choice”, to which I found out that, I’m dancing in the show tonight. Before I could rebut or argue, that old man disappeared from view. Perhaps this is the type of thing, what deaner was talkin’ about, when he said Don’t shit where you eat my friend.
Candi crawled back to me, washing off the now teary cheeks. I reached down to the flowery ground, plucked when up and handed it to Candi. What, I’m broke and roses are free? I countered when that old Voodoo hag began her ear-scratching chant of vice.
Candi asked me to take her away, that she wanted to leave, before the Ocean Man came to town, with the mollusk he had found. I could sense this man made her scared and was about to say it’d be okay. That was when the hag’s voice grew steep, “Baby Bitch,” she did repeat, again and again as she peered a hole on through. I tried to cover little Candi’s ears but upon next sight she’d ran into the woods to flee; leaving but the angry witch and the masses lined up to see what I’d do.
I didn’t know what to say or what to do. The looks they gave to me then and there, made me feel as if I was waving my dick in the wind to each of them. Scared now I began to back-step. Was about to turn and run when I felt a wet cold hand grip me tight and spin me some. Now eye to eye I knew it was, the Ocean Man, Candi-dear had spoken of. “Buenos Tardes Amigo,” he addressed to me, as the Voodoo Lady cursed me simultaneously, pink eye (on the leg) as I stared into the mollusk atop Ocean Man’s head. Then all went black and dark.
I awoke without sight. I felt the moistness of the earth. Soil grains passed through digging fingers still, pushin’ the daisies, that day became my last actions.
It is told, the show was a sellout, best of the year. Days later removed I was. Dirtied hands, soil beneath nails, mutilated lips from lack of air. On Halloween, tricks sometimes come from treats saved, or so those were the last thoughts I had.
Candi didn’t run into the woods. She went back the path looking for downtrodden strangers lost. Tears she sent upon her face, weaving to a lonely man, a tale she spun about her dying Equine love.
So I was looking through the Sunday Flyer and noticed that the Halloween store had reopened it's doors. This store doesn't get fancy with it's name, A big Orange Banner is draped above where the old TJ Maxx sign once hung. In big black lettering the word HALLOWEEN is all that's shown. It opens every year and then closes down a few days into November. The place is humongous for a store it's type and in the abandoned building beside it they usually have one of those "haunted house" things. Not sure if that's happening or not this year. So anyhow I saw the flyer and how the store had crammed as many costumes into it as possible. This one mask looked like a starfish was stuck to the wearer's forehead and a couple arms creeping over where your nose would be. Anyway, this image got me thinking about the band Ween, and how they have an album called The Mollusk, so I decided to do one of those tales that utilize some of the bands song names. I didn't use all their albums just two of them and a song from their first. Anyhow, I guess Halloween comes a bit early here at Poetical Psyche.