Anvil

Her gaze drops to the floor like
An anvil falling off a kitchen table

She laughs out loud, and it sounds authentic
She is not wearing any makeup
She doesn't seem to be faking anything

She needs some cold-weather clothes

"Ask me anything," she says,
But it's hard to ...
"I think I know
What you're going to say," she says

Her voice is soft at the edges

The tables around us have emptied
And silences linger

It's time for her to go
Because the car is here
And she has lots of things to do

Copyright © Richard R. Best 2004

Blood Reckoning

The clans have gathered in conspiracy to eliminate Wolfgang,
All but Owl,
Who holds whispered meetings in the shadows,
And no one knows whose side they're on
Secretive is not secrecy itself—
Ask a thoughtwalker whose name is not known—
So surely the Father of Wolves has heard
At least rumor by now, but
Wolfgang may even invite his imminent destruction,
The relief of being released from the bonds of
Power and responsibility for
The actions of those who seek to rebel against his constraints
A permanent illusion of a fading façade,
All faces turned away from mine,
Not one single eye seeking to return my gaze,
The somnolent stare of gargoyles etched in ectoplasm,
Their flesh a fantasy of synaptic misfire,
Something gone awry in the calculations
That have conspired to bring me here:
The equation does not balance
Grinding away time with a hacksaw blade
Incorrectly mounted in a serrated crescent
Between my thumb and forefinger,
An inappropriate tool used for a pointless purpose,
As time grinds well enough on its own,
Bearing with me in my presence
The faintest whiff of Death,
Looking like some sort of manic Christ,
With a smile to scare small children,
And an attitude to match
They all know that I am the appointed executioner,
Mine the decision whose blood will spill,
And whose be left inviolate
No one knows I'm coming
No one knows I'm there
I walk through crowds like water,
Float like smoke through air
No one hears me talking
No one hears these words
I sink like light through crystal,
Drown like fire burns
No one knows my blessing
No one feels my curse
I shine like shadows leaving
Never to return

Copyright © Richard R. Best 2004

Subterranean

You can call this the tunnels, the underground, the
Subterranean
It is home,
And what is under
Is sometimes over as well
I have found myself on mountaintops overlooking valleys
In which a city might nestle at
River's or ocean's edge
Shining like gold or silver in the sunlight

Like that smelted from the ore
To be found down here, or
Other treasures, diamonds

Or,

Dark to dark,
Coal, and loam, rich and fertile

In those places where something wrong has happened
Might be luminescent mushrooms, or the memory, as it were,
Of a distant shout, an echo of violence

But mostly
I go under the rats, under the skeletons,
Deeper
Into the heart of the mystery than that,
Looking for one skeleton only,
My own, waiting to be reclothed
So that I might take it walking
Once more amongst the cities of man

I don't know how many times I've done this

It's time for me to go
Down here
Where my bones are calling

Copyright © Richard R. Best 2004

Slow as Buildings

Buildings have fallen in the
Time it takes for me to
Fall asleep without you
Dust rises in slow motion through all my eyes
The flash of demolition charges
Projecting a memory of you
And in your absence I am numb
Don't feel enough to shed a tear
Though that will fall
Like a slow building
When you return

Copyright © Richard R. Best 2004

1,826 Days After

For the sake of all the children,
The lives that should not be wasted,
Do not hate
Brutalize
Wound in flesh and spirit
Those whom you do not understand

You feel uneasy in their presence
yet
There is much that you could learn
If you would only listen

You cannot claim a right to love and peace
For yourself and (righteously) deny it them
After what's been done to them, moreso

or

When they lash out at you
In anger, hate, and fear, and pain
At least have the decency
Not to think yourself the victim

Copyright © Richard R. Best 2004