Iran redux.

 

Barn..

What to love? Who to Dig up? What To bury? When the heart has given beyond it's self? Barn collected all these thoughts plus one, as he rode the weary toil; Carried forward by some lapsed ache.. Her bright explosions that surrounded. The only constant solid momentum to his day. The detonators that upped and moved and then re-placed themself. Himself the bagman carrying the pieces. In hope of what? Some future grace bestowed, some small morsel of affection to be delivered from inside the less gruelling points of her disdain? Her always just beyond and out of sight. in This chosen grind The slow daily commute to forever pleasing?. The forever beats of a masochist.'s  routine. MB

26.02.26

He spoke first and with a full heart. For he was now a wide man in a narrow world, in which his thoughts split deeply, strained by all the things that opened hard.. The places that had dealt, too swiftly. Soft- bruises and other markers of bad times. Once he had been ordinary-straightened and suited like the rest, dying under long hours, cut to his own square and suitably folded Walking The set line in the best direction, that neither paid or delivered to any place that was worthwhile or tantamount to real. And there he had waited, holding his breath in the shallows like some fragile decoration, wrapped in old papers, then put away and forgotten for another year. All these things had happened but when, he could not exactly say or remember, except that 25 years later he had the sensation that something of the world had passed beyond him; surrendered itself into an eclectic onward moving body of knowledge from which he was excluded. As the grey had turned to ashes and he collected his final docket; the last that anyone in the company could say fo him was that as a warrior for the desk he had served his time.  

27.02.26

Joel

The track was steep, bloody in it's redness as the day rose fast, dragging light out in on odd breaks of yellow and holly red. The remnants of night seeping into dark corners of a town still dead, drowned in the bad alcohol of the night before. A place in the middle of nowhere tracking along it's own hostile edge. Making space for the half damned, the losers and the broke. People  who bled as they both avoided and gravitated  towards each other., - Automatic in their distrust direct in their pronouncement to do  harm. A place of  hopeless dissipation and distraction. Where a woman will cut you with a blade,  Kill you with a gun or worse. It was into this place of waste and distraction  that before the evil of the morning had even raised it's self ,  Joel Bledo, aged 19, on his last dime rode up through the central throrughway on a lame and hobbled horse. MB