The Flour Man

A Man was killed.

By my Caretaker

he was made out of hay and flour

he became my friend

he couldn’t talk

he wanted to run with the others

So, I let him out,

he wore a bathing suit,

he would fit in.

Then the rain came,

He fell apart.

It ripped him apart.

Into a clumpy mess.

I gathered him up and went into the rickety shack,

Dust crept through the knot holes.

I wept, my tears making the flour into glue.

He was there.

stumbling, furious, fire burning, magma flowing, erupting, bursting,

Never had I known one as he. I begged Him to grind me up, into flour,

As the flour swept over me. I felt the embrace and as the lace of a hundred lifetimes fold

-I heard the words of a thousand stories told-

Wrapped their tendrils around me neck, I only saw one image…

Every day I talked to him.

A man, not wholly made, who would look at me, weep, sit

And just want to fit

1-30-06

10:01 pm

Inspired by a dream that I had several nights ago that was quite vivid.