The Mourning of the Flour Man

2006-02-06T20:27:00.000-08:00

As I held him there,

Nothing but lumps,

My heart, my heartstone cracked,

To be reduced to clumps,

I had loved him as a nightingale loves the smell that the warm breeze fills her wings,

as the Tiger loves the mud beneath his feet as he bows down to the whooshing tide,

As the boy loves the song that his mother sings,

As the girl loves her diary to confide,

The sun broke, shattered the sky,

A thousand pieces asunder,

Sharp glass, slicing through fleshy feet,

I never had seen such a sun, so bloody, so beautiful, so perfect in its tranquility and violence

I have never dreamed of a day when all that man has brought with him shall tumble upon him

My bloody feet, so torn and trashed aside by the ravages of a misbegotten honey drop.

I have never and will never see this sun again for every man that sees the sun,

Break and Tear

The gaping wound, tears flowing, so much blood, so much agony,

Please make me into flour so that I may join

So that I may live as he lived. As I imagined him to live.

He never spoke, Only wept. Wept wept.

So much sorrow, so much pain, never to see the sun

Time we do borrow, Understanding we do not have,

Passion, passion, passion.

I never have seen the sun as this, the sun on fire, flaming, brimstone. Blood.

1-30-06

10:19 pm

The Flour Man

2006-02-06T20:26:00.001-08:00

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.

Tiresias Blinded

The Mourning of the Flour Man

The Flour Man