The Crimson Bath

Post prism

Depression

Angular dissension

Grandiose

A delicacy, a toast

For those lacking light the most

And so I drift away, to a place I once knew so very well,

A universe unlike this one, a place where homes are carved in stone,

Where troublesome letches rove the dark extensions

Hours in comatose

Stumbling cross the craggy fray

Middling moments

Of great reverberation

Songs of echoic chants repeat their play

Over and over, again and again

I can’t get their words out from my head

Fur placed by river’s shore

In the water I reflect upon atrocities

So soon forgotten despite their retention of warmth

Like spores popping conscientiously

I see my face in its entirety

A slow step back brings my frame to focus

And the memories flood my thought canal

         Painting cornerstones a myriad of shades

The vivid and the off hue

For an eon it seemed to stand

A frozen man, without

Yet amassing swarms of enemies

Bathed in crimson,

                  Not just the flesh, but also, the question marks as well

          How did this cleansing come to be?

                  Was it birthed in pleasure or necessity?

         What languages speak in tongues like these?

And even the voices shake their heads…

                           Why has recollection shunned me so?

To steal the process from the skipping stone,

To dwell so far yet ogle my position from deserted throne

                  Leaving me with only prayers to own

What is the origin of such constructs?  

                   Is it in me, has this been the case all along

Or is it within parts yet to be seen?

Who is the architect of such a mask?

         Were these hands meant for callousing?

If so, then why has the subconscious purged remembrance so thin?

                           Into the crystal wash I walk

The scarlet I desire weakened; pray at all cost it’s forever lost

        

Upon submersion

How many sins shall wash away?

Where will the currents take them?

Will they regret? Will they every truly go?

Will they feel isolation, as they drift along without home?

Or will their next host embrace their cruel glow?

         From phosphorus to dust

From anxiety to life

                  We wash the crimson clean

                           Arising, from beneath the fluid screen

Hair compressed to nape

Levity is quiet still; levity may have died this day

Yet/ Reborn I feel/ lighter than I have ever been

A Quality Life

Been in this spot for so long, he don’t remember any other way of life.  It was a lot of heartache, lots of good times though.  All in all, Judge says it was a quality life; wouldn’t have done nothing different neither.  I told him to start at the start, and so that’s where we started.  I say we, because the arthritis has stole his joints and mine are still able to use a pen, so it’s mainly me whose voice your hearing, but this is all about judge,  he’s the one with things to tell, I just been long for the ride, that’s all.

He said he would remember sometimes stealing hubcaps off from cars, two neighborhoods away, it was him and a few of the kids from the playground, they’d take them and bring their finds to his uncle’s garage and get a nickel apiece, doesn’t seem like much, but it was back then, those were much leaner times than what we got now.  His father was a decorated officer and it was often joked that he had three sons, Judge, his brother and the law, and that one got the time out of the old man, can’t say ‘bout love, cause I’m sure he loved them all ‘bout the same..  He never was around much growing up, and his ma was always sick, so his ma’s brother took care of them after school and so forth.    Family get-togethers were quite heated, kids were torn as to who they should listen to, believe.  You see the uncle was a thief, a really good one.  The garage was a front, a place where the thieves could go and grab a soda, read the paper in between gigs.  Yeah, holidays were interesting.  Growing up, his brother took a path emulating his uncle, and I don’t really know what happened, but Judge appeared destined for the same.  Then the news came in that Judge’s dad was shot dead on the spot, convenient store, corner of rose and downing, for a dollar fifty in his pocket, just got off a double, must have been tired, and never saw it coming.  Anyhow judge changed after that day, turned away from the crooked pathway, judge’s uncle was fine with that, his life, his choice, but he was always there when judge needed him.

Skip forward a bit, I’ll fill in later, Judge was five years from the academy, and went back to school, and then again became a doctor of criminology and justice, something like that.  Bunch of union boys pushed him to run for being a judge; he brushed it off at first, and then ran thinking there was no way he’d win.  Well remember when I said judges uncle would always be there for him, well he was.

This was a long time ago; hardly recognize that man no more, at least fifty years now.  All the greasy palms, lobbyists, not to mention the family line, and that all came into play over the years, which is worse, whose call is that to decide anyhow, all these things can catch up to a guy.  Well judge has turned his head so many times by now he’s bound to be looking straight back to him by this point.  And judge, he’s a good guy, a really good guy, believe me, I know, been with him every step of the way.  But I don’t know how it all got unraveled, if it even did, but conscience has eaten him up good these past couple, he’s sad he can’t remember which is what, you know.  He remembers fine, that’s not it at all, it’s what point of view he’s remembering, that’s his concern, been so many sides and stories and angles played over the decades, old judge now demands photographs as proof now, even over his own memories and recollections of things, figures photos more reliable anyway.  Judge gone past this morning, so out of respect, not so sure this going to get out there, not sure what judge would want me to do.  I can fill in the blanks, but some things just best unremembered if you can, if not someone else can accuse a dead man of something, people look at accusations like that a bit differently, with a bit of skepticism.  Yeah, guess that’s ‘bout right, if it’s going to happen, that’ll be how it will be.