I searched the corners, losing him; in the orange grasses by the river- harshly brilliant, intertwined to hide a life-, in the mash of terror where souls escape to die, in the hallways of hamlets from which I come. concrete and grass. the luxuries of nothingness, a vain love….
I heard a noise. a brush of wind. Wait, it was a puppies’ whimper.
He wasn’t to be found.
There were people, hundreds, thousands- or perhaps two- standing, crowding, gazing, looking from left to right, at me. how are you? one wondered flicking her fingernails bitten to the skin, flashing a greyish teeth, at me. where is he? i asked. A desperation.
Where is he? why does he stand in there, with everybody- all two of you, as himself, telling songs of tales denied, yet I, I who seek him, I…I fail to see him. To hear him, to find him——To have him touch me?
It’s hollow, my bloody organ. I aches.