A free form poem inspired by two songs:
A mixed feeling stayed the Queen's head at the crest of a ripple in the sheets.
A fond but stabbing recollection swelled and filled the shrinking space that remained in her brain between the wall of her skull and the increasing tempo of throbs.
The King!
In a moment of sublime thoughtfulness, the guard turns his head against the friction of bolts and duty to fixate, thoughtlessly upon a bird, its wings at that moment pushing the air as it is rejecting flight, exiting from the grasp of its confused lover into a plane that renders it invisible, untouchable on the tip of the main castle mast. A stillness from fear of the first movement becomes stiffness. The painful hooked feeling of metal suspending itself by the flesh keeps the shadows of his men short, feet from the tower walls. The guard forces himself forward.
Enemies yesterday now split by a half meter of earth and some smashed trees arranged alike upright. Or possibly crisscrossed. Are they stronger that way? Everything seems bent by men. Men who are forced by other men - who owe something to other men. What exactly? The king is caught pondering in the ante chamber. Who exactly?
Mid-stride toward the gates, the guard creates melancholy for himself, as for this moment the nasty reminder of his body is stuck on him. It's a constant concern of his how his mind is tethered so, how his self is broadcast like an arrow from his body, which he must come down into now for the task of attacking that of someone else. What heavy business, descending into oneself, he thinks. How lightly the mind must flitter away, free of aches - he calms himself. Though his self is free, his body opens up its lungs and something automatic delivers air across his tongue. "Give us back the Queen!"
Closing her eyes forcefully and willing her mind to stay new-born, the queen rolls and glides in the first direction she recognizes to be open to her. Each step unravels her illusions, as though they were fastened to the bed. She puts two hands on the stones and leans her head out of the window, entering the wind and leaving the stale damp air behind her.
To be continued ..
"Queen Of The Pumpkin Plukes" by Dogs Die In Hot Cars Download mp3 (with permission)
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