Posey Wing lay beneath the window sill staring through the blinds; there were a few missing louvers and he could just make out the neon signs exclamation.

“HOT….L”

Vacancy the sign flashed. The red neon gave Posey a candent red eyed appearance, pupils dilate and undulates, scarlet like the eyes of a dog in a photograph.

He dozed in a nightmare restlessness, sleep without rest. The sound of his sighs, his exhalations in smoke scented perfumes and moldy carpeting, in cockroach heaven, tinctured the electric buzz of the neon sign with a breath of life; he was lonesome in beggar realms of dirt, stone and humid tears of sweat.

The air conditioning was just beneath the far side of the sill, the foot of the bed, close to the door. The far corner of the blinds bled dirty droplets of dust down onto the cold metal of the conditioner in spattered dew drops.

Clairvoyant, he was clairvoyant. He knew someone had died in the room, he could see the man laying in the floor near the bathroom. He wasn’t there he knew that, nevertheless he still saw and in seeing he suffered the misery of the clairvoyant.

Blood puddles of blood , the green nap of the carpeting was stained a dark brown, almost black. They hadn’t bothered to replace the carpeting. The man lay in a nimbus of mist, scarlet, frozen in time; hanging above his head was a fine spray of blood, still, glistening, suspended in an instant.

Posey turned from the ugly taboo and grabbed the pack of smokes he had placed on the edge of the window sill. Voodoo amusements he thought as he lit the cigarette, voodoo amusements my man. He inhaled deeply savoring the taste . He needed a coffee, black and strong. Posey stood and grabbed for the ancient coffee cup. There were bits of green and blue mold floating on the surface of the half empty cup. “Yuuuuuucccckkkk!” he groaned.

Crossing the room, past the mans body, the blood and the sightless eyes, he found the dark silhouette of the radio; he turned the knob and the radio blared to life. There were three or four stations playing simultaneously, a Mexican man talking in wavery exclamations , drifting in and out , wavering in ripples of sound. Beneath the Spanish broadcast a Pink Floyd song , he couldn’t remember the name of it; there was the faint sound of a minister in a preachy voice, “Re……ent, ……….pent sinners!” he exclaimed over the Floyd song and the Spanish dialogue. He listened for a moment and decided the radio was haunted.

As he was about to turn it off, he paused; from the bottom of a long dark hole, a tube, gravely, liquid, dark and in ethereal command , a voice sounding like bubbles and static, deep. The voice reminded Posey of an old episode of The Outer Limits, an alien voice, definitely not human. He clicked the radio off and an image clouded his mind for a moment, babies crying in a long tiled room, a woman in the throes of passion, and the alien.

The alien, the monster was a black silhouette in shadow, gurgling, flemy and in vigilant dimensions of madness. The shadow tilted at a crazy oblique angle near the corner of the room. Posey jumped as the radio blared back to life. “……iners repent, ye sinners!” he heard in infinite echoing static. Posey trembled uncontrollably for an instant as the monster melded into the corner of the wall. Posey paused for a breath and a hazy moment of contemplation.

There was a tiny sink and mirror on the opposite side of the room. “Coffee.” he whispered to himself as he imagined the bitter taste of caffeine. As he crossed the room he grabbed the cup from the bedside stand: the logo on the side of the mug read, “Wild Coyote Inn.”

With a picture of an amber colored coyote on the front. He dumped the ancient brew into the drain. Bits of fury green mold clung to the basin. Posey ran the hot water and using his hand he pushed the chunks of mold into the swirling rush of water. Taking a bar of soap wrapped in paper, he washed the mug and mixed a cup of coffee with the white labeled generic brand he had bought earlier that day.

As he drank the coffee became viscous, it tasted like blood, the lifeblood of a dream, a nightmare in pass. Posey wiped his mouth on the starched white cotton of one of the motel hand cloths, it smelled of bleach. The towel came away stained scarlet in smears of blood.

He exhaled loudly as he clicked the radio back off, dumping the mugs contents into the sink. “Just coffee.” he said aloud as he looked at the brown liquid staining the sink.

Posey grabbed a t-shirt from his battered suitcase and slipped it over his head. He found his tennis shoes and slipped them onto his sock less feet. His mother had told him, “Always wear socks with your shoes Posey, otherwise your feet will stink!” He felt a brief moment of guilt as he saw his mothers look of admonishment peering through a veil of years.

Posey walked out onto the front stoop closing the door to the room behind him. The sidewalk was washed in the flickering neon light of the hotel sign. A pile of dead flies lay scattered across the sidewalk beneath the sign.

Posey crossed the street and began walking south on Mawson Lane. As he approached the corner of Mawson and Rhy he spotted the prostitute on the corner. She walked toward him as he approached. A cool sashay, lipstick and curly blonde hair. She wore a lace halter done in white, sweet songs done in dry deserts he thought. She massaged her hip with long rose colored fingernails. The scarlet colored miniskirt inched up just far enough for him to catch a glimpse of her panties.

“ Watchya doin honey?” she said. Posey paused in mid stride, she was covered in blood and long gashes, knife wounds covered her arms and throat. Several of her fingers were missing as if she had tried to fight off an attacker. She seemed oblivious.

He had discovered his Psychic self when he was eight years old, or rather it had discovered him.

He had been by himself at Aziza Memoriam park; there were swings and slides and spinning wheels for the children. The barbecue pit was near the center of a group of picnic tables and the public restrooms. He had been on the spinner by himself; he pushed ran and jumped on the spinning wheel. Around and around, the wind, tall pines and picnic area became a blur. Jumping back off, his head swam for a moment and he staggered to the picnic tables. The smell of burning charcoal and hamburger grease filled his nostrils. He felt sick as the park wavered and tilted in front of him.

He saw three or four men around the barbecue pit, only thing wuz that they were ghosts he thought, he could see right through them. He was frozen in place as the scene unfolded before his eyes.

The men were laughing and yelling, “Burn baby burn!!” one of the men shouted in a whooping rage.

“Got dat beech but good man!” a scraggly man in a green t-shirt exclaimed.

“That’ll teach that miserable witch!” the third man said to the green shirt.

He watched as a plume of smoke drifted in thick oily streams from the cement pit. The cloying odor of charred meat hung in the air and Posey gagged back the contents of his stomach. He went over and looked in to the cement and mortar barbecue pit, Ash, gray ash and ghosts in blood and bones, “Blood and Bones.” he whispered aloud as the prostitute waved him closer. High-down in his memories, he took a few steps closer to the bleeding woman. Her mouth moved but the words didn’t match, a mans deep tenor. “Beware the wrath of the jade willows breath and the blood of the myrter!” She said as she looked at the bleeding nubs of her missing fingers.

Posey took in a deep breath, clean and tinged by the scent of lilacs, perfumed incense. The prostitute turned away from Posey for a moment and said, “ I love the scents of summer honey. Can you smell that, it reminds me of my grandmothers perfume. She always wore it before she went to the store or bingo. Grandpa said she was a rare beauty and she baffled the sky. Do I baffle the sky Posey? Do I make your heart race like a wild Raven Posey?” she asked in an easy rhythm of seductive coquette. “Do I baffle the sky Posey?” Posey stared at her as she tried to apply her lipstick. “Cherry blossom hun.” It was blood red and in commune with her bleeding face. She kept dropping the damn lipstick, her damaged hands weren’t working. “Gosh darn it Posey, I can’t get this right.”

Posey thought for a moment and offered, “You definitely baffle the sky miss.”

She grinned in open eyed glee as she put her lipstick away.

“Thanks honey…..hey…..” she gave him a sly smile, “I might be sweet on you Posey, how about a freebie babe?” Posey shook his head in horror at the thought and said, “ No thanks…..ahhhhhhaaaaa?” he questioned.

“ You can call me Daisy.” she offered in return.

“No thanks Daisy.” he said apologetically.

“Suit yourself hon.” she said as she crossed the street in directions of unknown haunt.

Posey looked at the spot on the corner where Daisy had been. The was a spreading puddle of scarlet and several bloody footprints pointing further down the street. Only thing was the footprints weren’t hers, they were large, a mans footprints, tennis shoe tracks, clearly heading toward the Neon Electric.
The city offered a few rarities, good bear, a good burger, museums for the eclectic minded, he hated modern art, and the Neon Electric.

Posey lit a cigarette and too a breath of smokey relief as he followed the bloody shoe tracks. He ended up standing near the bright neon glare of the Neon Electric. The footprints led inside. He looked at the ticket booth for a moment then the sign. Two stories high the sign flashed green and indigo light, spilling out onto the concrete in black light illumination, the bloody tracks glowed in the signs wash.

“NEON ELECTRIC.”

It sang in a staticy hum.

The ticket booth to the black light museum was empty and the front entrance beckoned him with its unbidden secret. Posey went inside.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the black lighting. The first thing he saw was the jade willow, six foot tall it took up an entire corner of the front room. The jade sparkled in the shadow light like a great ghost. He could hear the wind blowing through its jeweled branches. Near the base of the willow lay the body of the ticket taker, crumpled in the final throes of death.

The hall leading to the back of the museum was lined with shelves and colored neon lights. A giant mural of a seductive ornate design covered the opposite side of the hall. The mural showed a woman kissing a man in a fireman’s uniform, she wore nothing and her eyes seemed to loll with the black lighting in the hall. The shelves were lined with glowing curios, glitter covered, painted bright and obvious.

Posey moved into the hall. There were smears of blood covering the floor and tennis shoe tracks. Posey had a brief flash, a vision overwhelm his senses with the sight and smells of a nightmare drama.

The end of the hall seemed to waver in the dark lighting, swaying at a crazy angle, and the smell of blood fresh, coppery. Posey tried to fix a glance at the shadow he saw crouching there, or was it laying there, he couldn’t tell, his psychic senses were in full swing. Dressed in black he saw a skull faced reaper with a blood spattered scythe. Black and white bone, sinew rending unto the blade. The figure screamed, “ Drink the wine! Drink the wine Posey!” Posey shook for a moment as if jolted then he paused the red neon glowing in his wide eyes. He looked at the pathetic creature crouched beneath a display of stained glass crucifixes. “ Drink the wine!” the man whispered in a throaty exclamation.

Posey stared at the shadowy shape of the killer, he was still, quiet in solstice with the screaming ghost, “ Drink the wine!” The mans head had nearly been blown in half and a sodden mess of brains lay next to his motionless figure. Blood, great puddles of congealed crimson liquid pooled beneath his body. He had just missed the action. The killers escape, his way out by self destruction.

The man whispered, “ Drink the wine Posey!” he held out a bottle of grape MD 20/20 toward Posey, “ Have a sip my man, have a sip!”

Posey turned and walked out of the Neon Electric to the waiting street with its freaks, ghosts, burnouts, hookers and dirty dreams of poverty. He made his way back to the motel and bolted the door behind him.

“HOT….L” the sign flashed as Posey laid down in a hunted portion of respite.

(The Angel)

The angel was a brilliant beacon of love and light shining down on the man and woman from above, ethereal and beautiful before god and heaven. The veil had become a gauzy rent in a place near the couple and so abbadon had taken advantage. He had put on an ostentatious show, barraging them with terror after terror. Finally it had become too much for them and the angel interceded. He grasped the demon and chained him to the darkest depth of hell, leaving the other demons in hell to wonder and quake with fear, supplicating as the angel passed near.

(Changes)

The bird swooped down at him suddenly, the shadow of it feathered flight against his face. He had been sitting quietly on his front porch for hours, waiting. The bird served as a sign that his waiting was over. He wouldn’t find himself slipping into unconsciousness, disappearing from the planet; his path was clear now. The portent was revealed. He mouthed the lord’s prayer in thanks.
The bird reminded him of the Bee and the Bee reminded him of the Palm Meadow and the Palm Meadow the Locust and the Locust the Wolf. The visions became dimmer and the veil became almost all occlusive; the voices from the depths of sanguine darkness became muted, subdued by the advent of an unknown angel.
Standing, he turned to the front of the house. Once again he prayed, touching the door gently, in singsong rhythms of contrition he asked for protection from above, for his house, his wife and the sanctity of their existence. Sighing he opened the door and went inside.
The next day came much as the previous one had with exception, the sun rose filling the landscape with light as it always had, forever in candent glow, an eternity of light, glowing, warm, guiding and another sign that life would continue to improve for him and the love of his life. The startling fact was that he sensed the difference in atmosphere, the voices were gone and the day seemed brighter. Once gain he prayed.

He had been having nightmares late in the morning hours, silent, flashes of another planet, another life. Sometimes they made sense, at others they were just disjointed images. “ Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.” he whispered to himself just before drifting off.

There were occasional dreams instead of nightmares, portents of a better life. Love, laughter and happiness filling the spaces where the monsters lay. He wished for those moments, those dreams every time his eyes closed and sleep rushed in. Perhaps the nightmares would end, he crossed himself he looked heavenward with the expectation of rebirth, perhaps and just maybe the nightmares were in the past.

He thought about the bird and the other signs again , it had to be over he thought. The demons were powerless now, defeated and bidden toward other moments in time, left to their own and subject to their own. He found himself imbued with the strength to continue on, toward a greater promise and a dawning hope.
The wind blew gently across the yard, branches clicking and clacking in the tall pine bough, the smell of lilac permeated the air and the suns rays warmed his face, and he breathed, breathed for the first time in a long while. He was free and his life would continue on revolutions constant arc. In times of pause he thought with a bit of the old wariness.

***

He would need to go to the store sometime later in the day, thankfully his car hadn’t given up the ghost yet. His wife was cleaning, washing dishes and busy with the frills of housework; mother in want he thought. Their communication was good and they loved each other above all else. He smiled and called out, “Finished yet hon?” She wouldn’t leave the house to go shopping until everything was in order.

***

He found himself sitting on the front porch again, shadows filling the yard in slow creeping acquiescence. The sundial in the front garden read Seven P.M., looking into the sky , squinting at what remained of the dying sunlight he listened. The crickets were singing and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair, blowing it in front of his eyes, momentarily blocking the sky and the sun and the pale glow of an early moon.

Inside the house he heard a muffled stream of yelling and laughter. Arailia was engrossed with “ Platoon “. The air was warm and pleasant, he smiled and moved the hair away from his eyes.

Rex loved sitting outside as everything became a gently hushed dream for him. An easy silence except for the birds and the wind. The branches in the tall palms stirred and the calming whoosh was in contrast to the visions he had been having. For shivered for an instant, hoping they were truly gone. The morphic visions were on vacation, and for now the veil was heavy, and the portent declared his freedom. He prayed silently thankful for the reprieve.

The demons had nearly become a reality, an incarnate consistency and that’s what frightened Rex. What if they returned to claim their souls. What if they came for his sweet Arailia, his love and the very breath of his being. His wife was his sanity and the transcendent nature of their relationship was in direct proportion to what they had been through with the visions, the screams of hallucinatory haunt and the dire substance of a demon in bloom.

The sky continued to darken, the sun low on the horizon glowed like a bright orange flame; he could hear someone playing music in the distance, a guitar flowing in gentle waves of caressing soliloquy to an unknown god. The tune was smooth and it reminded him of honey, the taste of honey, the Bee small buzzing and curious. The Bee had been another sign, flittering near his stomach and the seat of his soul, indeed the Bee had been a portent of good things to come.

He stood, gazing into the sky again, just the faintest twinkling of stars in the distant twilight sky. He closed his eyes and the tiny after burn of a hundred points in star shine lit the inside of his eyelids with a blossoming image. Once again he prayed and when he opened his eyes again the sun had set. Turning away from the trees and the yard and the night sky he grabbed the doorknob and smiled, near the center of the door resting his wings was a dragonfly. It whispered silent vibrations as its promised flight rested near the touch of Rex’s hand . Reaching to the side of the porch, to the Alameda vine growing up the side of the house he found a flower and grabbed it, gently pulling it away from the vine. He held the blossom close to his nose and inhaled, the sweet scent filled his head for a moment, a momentary delirium of opium delights clouded his mind for just the briefest of seconds. He opened the door and dropped the flower to the porch, moving inside he was careful not to disturb the dragonfly on his perch.

***

He Slept peacefully for the first time in months. It had been dark quiet and without interruption. Later he awoke to the sound of Araila’s breathing and the scent of her hair. Again he thought of something sweet like honey as he kissed her gently on the lips.

Rex eased the covers back careful not to wake her; he saw something flitter in the corner of his eye. At the bedroom window and reflected in Arailia’s vanity. It was a bumble bee. He sighed, the clock ticked and the bee tapped against the window pane. Rex looked at arailia and smiled, she had slept through this one, this tiny portent called the bumble bee. He looked out the window again and saw the sun, reflected against the trees filtering through the lace curtains and glowing against the mirror, and still, just for a moment he had seen something else. The yard had been strewn with thousand of flower petals multicolored and fluttering in small tempest whirls. He blinked a few times and the image vanished leaving only green grass and sunshine behind.

Dressing himself, Rex went outside to the front porch swing. The air was fresh and invigorating as he inhaled deeply in the morning sunshine. He was prepared for what the day might bring.

***

He was drinking a coffee, black and steaming, it burned his tongue a little but he liked it that way. He set the cup down, sloshing some over the brim so it puddled on the wooden porch. He picked the lit cigarette up from the porch step where it lay and took a puff. Smoke filled his lungs and as he exhaled he watched a thousand tiny images evaporate in the air, drifting spirals of mist mixing with the currents of fresh air, finally he spotted the image of an angel, in Smokey disarray, fluttering and waving against the haze. Seconds later a chameleon ran across the bottom step, hurrying needing to remain hidden it ran beneath the boards.

A bird screeched breaking his reverie. Arailia motioned him from the kitchen window. Rex waved back, “I’ll be there in a minute honey.” She realized they had overcome the worst of it, the visions the night terrors and the prospect of an endless series of attacks from some unknown quantity, a demon in vaunt, in vestured arrays of hate and diversion. They had prevailed she thought as she watched Rex move through the front door, and they were happy now, for time first time in years. She had had a moment of trepidation, she had seen things for just a moment as they had been and when she saw Rex sitting there on the porch in quiet prayer she had thought the worst, an instant of doubt. What was wrong she thought for a fraction of an instant. The last few days had been a blessing and she believed, she had to believe the worst of it was over. It had been a struggle filling the closeness between them and the space nearby. Rex had seen the sign and now she was sure that it had ended. Araila was overwhelmed with a new hope for their future, and just before calling Rex into the house she had cried a little bit, salty tears of hope and the love of a wife in commune with her husband. Really, all she wanted was Rex to be near her, for him to extinguish the moment of doubt with his presence.

Rex read the worried expression on Arailias face and went to her embracing her; her arms encircled his neck ruffling his hair. He returned her embrace with kisses ,lightly on the lips. They stood there intertwined, sunlight streaming in from the kitchen window, illuminating them in the midst of shadows and silence. They had become sane again, moreover they had overcome. The prevailing sense of dread that had dictated their every waking moment had vanished.

Toenails clicked across the tile floor, Rex looked down into the expectant panting of a fluffy white and absolutely famished poodle. Rex reached down to scratch the little dogs head. She pushed her head into his hand and wagged her tail madly. Leaning upward, Rex let his eyes trace the outline of Arailia silhouetted in the sunlight. She looked ethereal to him for a moment and a poem filled his head.

“Transcendental passing as the
Tides, their love and warmth
The love of an aching abide,
In the afterglow of commingled essence
And in the shape of spirit
Never ending, as they embrace
Never to cease the adornment
Of love, unbridled in perfect passions,
In harmonies face and the whisper of
Love, the sweet whisper of love,
The eternal bond of passion and love.”

Rex touched Arailias cheek and kissed her again, she closed her eyes and smiled in response. They exchanged a soulful look for a moment, the image removed all the barriers that might restrict the feeling of oneness that he had and shared with his wife.

***

Later, much later toward the edge of twilight and the advent of an evening moonrise, Rex once again sat on the front porch steps. Lazy tendrils of smoke drifting up from his cigarette. Whippoorwills called out in the evening breeze and the cool airs of a night-tide essence whipped perfumed essences of lilac and fresh cut grass. Rex looked to the East, down the tiny dirt road that fronted the house and as he looked he saw the faintest of shapes approaching growing larger until it stood near the edge of the driveway. A wolf, all scraggly and tall in it’s demeanor. The wolf looked toward the front of the house and Rex then padded it’s way to the front porch. Rex’s heart raced and the prospect of dying flashed across his consciousness. The wolf paused in front of him and rex stood. It licked it’s lips and stood upright planting its paws firmly on either side of Rex’s shoulders. Rex looked into the amber eyed glow of the wolf’s eyes as he held his breath wondering if he would be devoured. The wolfs muzzle was coated in blood and its teeth were sharp two inch razors against its curled lips. Rex strained under the weight of the wolf. Just as it seemed to be preparing for a fresh meal it’s tongue reached out and licked Rex across the face. Whining the wolf returned to all fours and let out a howl. In that moment Rex saw the freedom that the wolf had and where the dreams of demons and delirium had gone. He prayed again as the wolf Padded away, finally disappearing into the dusky twilight.
The evening wore on that night and Rex realized that the wolf had been sent, by who or whom he wasn’t sure he just knew that he had a guardian angel looking out for him.

His confidence was a certain annoyance to the pool of spectators. Straying a glance at the prosecuting attorney, he offered a grin and an innocent expression of bewilderment. She returned his look with cool confessional disregard. He imagined the sweet passions of sleepy innocent indulgence and fresh air rather than the odor of urine and sweat that had permeated his jail cell. He had spent the last sixteen years in that cell and now he remained silent, calm, composed as the prosecutor questioned the witness.

“ Innocent.” the convict whispered. The witness wore a cloudy look for a moment before finally answering.

“ I believe he’s innocent.” the witness professed. The prosecutor sighed and dismissed the young woman.

“ Innocent.” he whispered again. The judge coughed and banged the gilded wooden gavel.

“Unless you have something more substantial, I’ll allow this injustice to end, the defendant is obviously,” he shouted, “….innocent!” The prosecutor gasped and swore under her breath.

He thought about the crime he had been convicted of sixteen years earlier and the additional charge they were trying to pin on him. A story in every cell block he thought. The book had lain open before him and the small sliver of metal he had fashioned in the metal shop served it’s purpose. A small slash against his palms and he had recited the words, the words contained in the text, the leather bound book “Voodoo Taboo”.

“ By the will of the great snake in coil and oblivion, by the wines of a forgotten snare, by the call unto the dance of voodoo high, I submit the powers of hoodoo chance by the way of the innocent man…………my soul unto the great snake for the freedom of the innocent, for the freedom of the innocent, innocent, innocent.” he had gasped through clenched teeth.

“ Innocent.” he whispered to the courtroom again. The prosecutor stared ahead and sighed in resignation. “Innocent.” she said aloud, moved by unseen forces. “He’s innocent.”

The defense attorney jumped up beside the man and shouted, “ Move to dismiss your honor.”

“ Granted.” the judge responded. News crews waited in throngs and throes near the court house steps and as he walked arm in arm with the defense team a final thought filtered through the glee he was experiencing, A life for a life he thought in synchronicity with unseen forces, a life for a life. Long ago he had taken something from the world, a moment, a second from the existence of his victim, the murder that had landed him in jail. He shook his head clearing away the old thoughts and feelings. I’m free now, truly free. Just then, in the moment of his reverie’, an enormous explosion tore through the air ripping it in two. Bodies flew in helter-skelter array and the defendant lay buried beneath the stones of a twilight court.
In distant observation a passerby, a common suit, whispered a brief word of accusation.

“Guilty!” he said from across the street. “Guilty!”

The landscape was an eternal vision of hungry grass, all encompassing in it’s wide vista; The cry of a dozen dreamers and believers in emerald waves of fervor blessed the virgin skies and the bond of grass, unique in fray and fringed horizons, in the singsong grasp of affection and tender embrace, “ Ahhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmm, Ahhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa.” they sang in confederate breaths of exaltation, of invocation to the greater gods of existence.

The twilight bled bright orange and red, indigo edges and the gentle sweep of shadow. Warm suspirations and eager inhalations, they would come one of the believers thought. A great gulping ascension in blazon skies of passion, they would come. The dusk intruded in evening tide waves of darkness and the rolling winds caressed the believers in the grass, gentle, sweet and full of blissful weave. The sensation of what might happen and the promise overwhelmed them; the would come in great swirling eddies of light and rainbow wills of love, they would come and the believers would become the survivors, the predecessors of man in the aftermath. Ancestors in Mop-Gear and electric assurance , each in his own, the forefathers of the crow, the ravens tongue and sparrow in feathered predictions of civilization and the cares of mankind. They would come and the new love, the new way in paths of holy sustenance, in quests of Eden would flourish in the aftermath of nuclear dissension, in the aftermath of annulled existence; the believers would hold Excalibur the sword of fate and the salvation of innocence.

The embryo in wombs of contrition and rebirth, the rebirth of man and woman, and child and infant. They would come for the sake of god and eternity, forgiveness and forever. The believers waited in the vast savannahs of grass, and they believed in the wish, the need and inborn want for the future in the Midwest and the southern horizon. They waited and the grass spoke in hints of tomorrow, in rolling decrees of sleepy reunion with the cares of a lost civilization. They waited and dreamed of forever, the deep stand of eternal deliverance in the stars, from the skies in dark waves and amber glowing salvation, they waited open armed for the creation of a new day. In end they did come, for the seed of a dream, for the allowance of man and quests that assure the realm of sinless hope. The angels of third heaven, distant and embracing the divinity of the dreamers faith, embracing all that stands between the darkness and moted tempests of light. They came and the drama became a cacophony of happenstance and joy, joy for the gift given, the choice made by a few, the endless dialogue between heaven and earth.

“I’m alive with you baby,” Straw Berkley whispered into her ear, “ Alive and born again with you my love.” She grinned in an askew sort of manner and shifted on the leather sofa. A sticky squishing sound from beneath her shifting figure broke the moment, like Velcro peeling away from Velcro and a mouth full of swishing spit. “My eyes for you darling, my soul and my captured heart baby.” Straw said in earnest desire.

The book lay open between them. She sighed and chortled in a strange gleeful passion.

“ Everything for you my love .” he exclaimed to her in easy waves of affection. She glanced at the open book between them and a look of fear crossed her face in misshapen dilemma. Straw paused and she said nothing as she smacked her lips and clicked her tongue against her pointed teeth.

The moment was a cool breath between them and as the twilight glow of an ancient sun and the divide between night and day pierced the tiny living rooms dusty window blinds, Straw had a moment of obliging trepidation. She waved her arms in gentle airs of dance , flowing in angled difference to the space that separated them.

The bloody red hue of her gold rimmed irises flittered and swam as she moved her cracked leathery lips. The book, perhaps he had made a mistake. Straw looked at her gelatinous frame and her long flowing strands of hair, silvery corn silk, mirror like, “ Maybe we should take our time in this relationship thing.” he said having a few second thoughts. Her teeth glimmered razor sharp, dripping a snot like saliva onto the open book.

He considered, maybe his wish, his wish for love and ecstasies unbidden had been a hasty decision.

She opened her mouth and a great spraying geyser of scarlet splashed him from head to the tips of his sneakers. He wiped his face noting the moth dancing near the ceiling fan above them. She waved her numerous arms and screamed a shrill Banshee like scream. Her legs, decaying in degrees, shifted to lift her giant frame and she stood hunched in amorous appreciation for Straw.

As her scaled tongue darted out to taste Straws lips , he understood the depth of his mistake. Screaming in fear he grabbed for the ancient book, the Legend of Demonic. As his fingers traced the skin of the volume in bloody trails of desperation, she embraced him and took him as her husband.
“Baby,” she gurgled between his screams, “….my love and my beautiful salvation.”

In the spirit of shadow, of gentle twilight passions and desires in velveteen darkness, he studied the cattail down, in perfect pose, still by the source of wonder. He knelt on bended knees amongst the castaway leaves of fall, near the ponds edge. A great grin of possession, the cattail was his, like the firefly light that flittered and swam before him, a legend in myth, a miracle in the alter of astonishing dreams, the cattail swayed before him, tufted and pregnant near the tip. He layed his hands together in prayer, in benedictions grace,

“ Careful violet,
My sweet violet,
Can you speak
Of heaven and the
Dreams of paupers,
Can you allay
The fears of an old
Man my love,
My desire in spring
And my passion in
Fall seasons of
Chance, what in
Cattail down and musty
Earth, what secret do you own,
What belongs to the heart
Of desire and eternal rest,
What seeks your advice from
Scarlet beaded tears unto the
Watery asylum of forever and a
Breath, the watery asylum in clear
Glossy eyes and milky hued skin,
What lay before the temple of
The cattail my sweet violet, my
Love and bond of tomorrow unto
The breech of yesterdays deed,
Yesterdays sin, a sin in
Sleeping demons of drink and angry
Drama, what sin hath a bottle bred?”

He whispered reverently to the wind, to the blood sodden soils and the cattail swaying in white cotton and the single drop of blood. “ What sin?”

He whispered again as he closed his wife’s eyes with pennies from his heart.

He held the cerulean sphere in cupped hands. His reflection wavered in the blue effervescence like a beseeching prisoner, a captured image of long faced desire, the desire for secrets and equal measures of beauty. His face elongated and drooped in long allay, his chin was a full foot beneath his pursed lips and his forehead sloped upward to an impossible length. He was Longface, Longface Wild as the town referred to him. He had tolerated the taunts of children and adults both over the tumult of his existence. The everyday spoils of marriage, children and love had eluded him. He was long faced and rambling in tonics of rare disposition.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” he sighed in a whisper of reverent appreciation. The blue stone shimmered and swam before his eyes as he prayed for the confluence of events, the very purpose of his breath.

Longface closed his eyes and saw the afterimage of cobalt fire, the stone in the midst of a tempest. A tempest gathered against the exclamations of perfection, the decreed portion of beauty. A gathering tornado true, borne by longfaces and rare expressions.

The stone had been in the conclave of the dead near the edge of town. A long underground cavern where the townsfolk and country denizens had laid their loved ones to rest, in eternal sleep, a forever in company of damp moss and subterranean dreams.

He had crept to the entrance of the cavern and later, after dark, had gone into the ancient graveyard. The rows of rotting and mummified bodies had remained silent, passive and ever watchful. The flashlight had been a beacon and a torch as he searched the rows of decaying bodies. A moth flittered and danced in the moted glare of the light. He scanned the corpses and finally, near dawns edge he saw the prize, a large blue stone muzzled in the decaying jaw of an ancient king.

Longface had torn the jawbone free from the rest of the skull and the stone had rolled close to his feet.

“ Ahhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaahhhhhaaaaa.” he said, “Thank-you.”

As he sat in the small secret copse near the horizons frayed edge, the stone gleamed and glowed calling, calling. The old guard, the desires of the dead and the dreams of delirium. He waited, in confessions of revenge. Longface Wild, Longface Wild, they called as the air filled with the screams of the living and the gasps of the dead.

Lower than the planted twilight horizon and beneath the frayed forest edge, it lay near his young feet. The infinite in a simple paw, the velvet touch of rabbit fur and blue stain. He stared at the tiny paw and a mask of tense expectation flittered across his face. The evening became an indigo accent to the rabbits paw and as the October chill sang, as assured yells of trick-or-treat filled the air in Halloween glee, he had a moment of Shanghi dread, “Candy” he whispered, “Candy in a sack.” he grinned and hummed. They had taken his pillowcase full of candy and knocked him to the ground, but he had his dad’s rabbit paw. “Candy, candy and fields of sleep, give me candy in Halloween keep.” he sang. The mists and veil of divided accent parted for an instant and the little boy smelled Old Spice aftershave. The Image of his father wavered and glowed in a brilliant array before his wondering eyes. His father grinned in ghostly sensation. The soils turned and dry paper remnants of Fall decay, leaves in bundle, became the secret suggestion of chocolate and caramel, azure sacks of sugar and pennies in disarray near the seams. He smiled and hefted the bag across his shoulder.

Slipping the rabbits paw into his pocket he thought about his dad and the accident; the day his father had never returned from the corner liquer store, the last moment he had seen him and how he had promised to buy him a bag full of nickle candy, and lastly he remembered his father giving him his lucky rabbits foot. “ This is for you son, wherever you are I’ll be there, because I love you son, the foot is the secret that we’ll keep between us, forever son, forever.” caressing the paw he grinned, his Shanghi dread dissipating.

The necromancy was a passionate pastime in Truck Snarls pale-faced demeanor. He lusted in an elegant alliance with the wont of power, sex and pleasure, any pleasure. Truck sneered at the tiny auburn haired Daisy Chit. She was perched on the edge of the sofa as she baptized her tiny mouth with a splash of Canada Gold.

Truck felt a tense prickling across the nape of his thick bullish neck; he thought in waves of scarlet, a charcoal assessment, cauldrons and warlock amore’. He had memorized the invocation,

“Wills and thrills
Deem it in dreams
And tender seams
Give me yer turn and
Accept the magic’s
We burn.”

As he said the word burn he drew the Gillette stiletto across his hand. A fine spray of crimson followed the shaving blade in a misty arc as it splattered Daisy. They waited and measured the moments by the puddle of scarlet tears beneath Trucks palm.

Truck touched the edge of the blade and looked at Daisy. She was leaning back against the sofa staring at Truck, she whispered,” Come to me love…..,” Truck smiled and moved toward the couch. His palm print stained the beige cushion with red smears as he scooted up close to Daisy.

“ ye got some homespun for daddy Daisy?” Truck said as he kissed her full on the lips.

“ I got the best in beasts baby.” she sighed as his hand caressed her thigh.

The light grew dim and a gentle rumbling rain began to pour in cascades and buckets. Truck knew it was raining inside the house, nevertheless he was entranced by Daisys passionate response.

The air hummed and rumbled as Daisy called out in the throes of passion,

“Rage and downy allure
Come and be sure.”

Truck screamed a moment later as the house tore in two, a division of light and terror, of sylvan egress and whiskered demons in bloody raptures of Canada Gold and crimson smeared cushion.

Something huge, unbidden, unbridled and ancient reached through the rend in space, the torn half of Trucks space. Truck fought and screamed as the phantasm consumed him, as the specter of forever told a tale of obsidian shadow and gray ghost. He slipped and turned in tumult as the air closed around him; an instant later he was gone.

Daisy apologized to the empty space where Truck had been and sighed with a tired requiem. The day turned twilight and Daisy became a picture in ash as she walked through the shadows between what had been and what was a new world of contrasting wonder.

Ecru Dread was unimpeded by the trappings of life, the entrance of screaming, kicking tears and enchanted exclamations of Farwell to limbo, “By birth and by the tenants of death” he yelled. By age he thought ancient turns of fated revolution; to be reborn and to die over and over again he thought. Ecru saw broken bones and wheelchairs, rainbow sunrises and amber waves of saffron, “Tis a declaration of what is and what will be the want of angels and god.” he whispered.

The store was crowded, nevertheless he went unseen, unheard. “ A bit of candy for the child and an unbidden apple for the aged passage of time.” he muttered as he picked up a package of chocolate covered apples. Blessings of light lauded Ecru and shadows of pregnable slavery to chance danced around Ecru as he traversed the isles.

“ Great glories of love and last gasps given unto the blood of wombs in transit, a babies boodle all kit and caboodle.” he sang as he grabbed several cans of French cut green beans.

He paused for a moment, “ooooohhhhhhhhhhssssssss,” and “ahhhhhhhaaaaaaaasssss.” from somewhere in the store; the gentle sing-song gasps and twitters swept across the store aisles as a raven flew into the vegetable isle, and unto the turn, the way of the world, another leap and bounding adventure. “Caw, caw…….,” the raven spoke from atop the turnip greens, “Caw, caw.” Ecru turned and all went dark in shadow and silhouette as he died in the isle of the superstore.

For a moment the temper of cool air made him want to pee. “ He’s beautiful man, beautiful.” The baby bubbled and cooed and inside, the ancient knowledge of raven’s and rebirth stole the moment for fate. The parking lot of the superstore was jammed with busy shoppers, mothers, sons and grandmas in dance, the ambulance flittered and the secret birth within declared the ravens roost as he circled from above a recurrent drama of blood and new life.