Signifying nothing

You would think you wouldn't nightmare him Thirty years buried in the sticky clay of your town But then you wake at 3:23 in the morning and he Has transmogrified into a drooling demon who Murders your sister, who threatens to slit your throat And you spend the whole of the next day secretly Aghast, since his ghost now haunts you Not the demon that your unwaking mind made him To be, but the man who was; the man who built You a boat to sail in the drain ditch out front Why now has he transformed for you? What have you done that has made him change? What have you given up?  What have you kept? So you walk out into the storm, clutching your Collar close, wondering if you will find him Again.

You worried about people thinking that you're ridiculous But the ridicule that dropped from your lips stained your Best dress shirt with a jagged pool of yellowing hate Sneering, you wondered why people would turn on you It was them, of course, not your stained shirt, not the bitter Spell bubbling away in the cauldron of your soul So what is to be done?  Where do you go with all the seething Mockery that wants to boil over and cover the stove in a sticky Syrup of jeers that you once thought built the body of your Existence?

High tension wires strain into the distance Where mountain range nearly touches mountain range God to Adam at the bottom of the valley One arm inclined in lackadaisical acceptance The other disinclined in active indifference A sea gull follows the wire through the morning haze Never reaching the point where man and divine Join together in a rocky embrace