howling into the wind

December 11, 2007 at 10:07 pm (the Muse sings, the writing of others)

It is very dark.  The Muse sings into the wind, night howling right through her. The words are not her own*, but they might as well be. You cannot see her face, because you know, with the instinct of prey, not to get too close. If you linger to listen, the wind will carry her words to you…

She whispersings:

“I remember…
the jets slowly scraping
low and heavy…
across a sky of suede

“I remember…
the angle of your elbow
as it tangled back in crack of fists across a face

“I remember…
the silk of boots in the mud
cold…
sexual…
in these clandestine woods.”

And then she sings, voice low and vicious:

“Down at the river’s edge
below the concrete bed
the smell of my life in your hair
Where the stinging nettles grow
and the lonely rushes blow
I left you in a culvert there…

“Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
buildings and dreams dissolve into rust
Now all the flowers are turning brown
As the circus is coming to town
As the circus is coming to town”

She sings, voice very soft:

“I remember
dying to cry out…
but throat stuck with briars and stones
as your ruddy lips grew much ruddier…”

She sings again, voice sharp:

“Step you lightly now
we must keep our voices down
the dogs of remorse follow close on the wind
Take your face of don’t-be-shy
they can hunt you with their eyes
and they surely know the scent of sin.

“Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
buildings and dreams dissolve into rust
Now all the flowers are turning brown
As the circus is coming to town
As the circus is coming to town”

And she whispersings finally, as if caught in a dream of memory:

“I remember falling…
falling back
into that tangled bed
a mesh of twigs
deflowered like a virgin bride
where the ground swallows spring
underneath
the deciduous canopy
propped up with jagged scaffolding
is that a dream of thunder
coming…
is that a dream?
of thunder
coming
is that a dream
of thunder
is that a dream
coming …?”

* the Circus, by Firewater

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