Pointed toward the rotting eave, a child of magic came to me.
With eyes as pure as the moon-lamps glow
He had questions he needed the answers to
Father, for lack of cruelty to break so young a heart, How could I tell him such a tale
Unwanted, left adjacent to cat’s dish and disposed meals
Too young to know the difference
Therefore he became the son, I didn’t earn, I hadn’t won
Only fortune blessed to me
Only hope of family
For a Goblin dwelling in a land of Jin
Soon he would tell the difference
Suppress forever I cannot,
By such a time, I can only hope love’s light has cast
An immovable bond of love and loyalty
Until such a time
I must educate and make the choices for him
“Father, why do we hide away?”
“Father, what are we hiding from?”
And so, without knowing the reason why,
I replied without summating facts or weaving lies as truth
In so I spoke and said:
There is a place, oft enjoyed, oft abused.
There is a sojourn, one may take, one must make.
There is a harbinger in wait.
There are harpies, flying beside fate.
Gemini’s claustrophobia ensues.
Vigilance of patricidal commentary
Cars rambling to and fro
Aiming to avoid
Collide you must.
There are tactile reminders, of yore, as décor.
There are remnants, scattered about worn trace, spasms in dust wake.
There are echoes, voiceovers barrage and take, the meanings of the collage they make.
There is a place, oft asleep, oft awake in sleep.
There is a sentry, on-guard, protecting the gates.
There are faeries, sifting through the cracks.
Filing through cellulose siphoned knots
Dial plots for a middling day
Ambition in a time of duress
Closure, once promised to those at rest