My Story: Nightmare

by jerrontables

A continuation of My Story (Parts I and II) – An elaboration of My Story: Part III

 

The grey would greet me—oh hello—different shades of different magnitudes and densities, fog sprays–

hainted misgivings in the city of light.

Crumbled intersections abounded–great, red octagons looming, bursting big and teasing down to hulk back up again. Bulging and mobile. Spouting language. Gushing out the red mouth.

 

Arrêtez, vous stupide

Wer nicht zu stoppen?

это большой, красный восьмиугольник.

 

Yo soy el rey de parada y tú eres mi esclavo desobediente!

 

Shouts came from all around me. There were two headed stop signs, evil eyes. Some with arms, sprouting and throwing other stop signs, winged and screaming.

Inside and outside of each other–lopen voor het!–etching new ones of old ones, self-multiplied, hot and asexual orgasms of stop-carred municipality, pulse-popping monstrosities, ugly and wanting, grasping and gnashing, varying in pulsating size like circus mirrors, clowns dancing off their hotch spot. Laughing. Birds. Caw to prey for scooping, swoop the skies awarbling, spinning vultures. Avian salivation for the flesh of the dead, tongue bled–hell’s ruffled worm feathers lurching at the living for their rotted selves partake.

And then–

Boots stamping on the cobbled pavements of France.

Alouette, gentille Alouette
Alouette je te plumerai

Clomping. Soldiers about the buildingwork. Huffing. Marching the perimeter. Take a peek. Empty potato sacks. Big boots a Frenchie. And on the sky—

Bonaparte the winged Pegasus to fly–

–“ On est toujours forcé de donner quelque chose au hazard!”

 

A potato sack of full. The emperor spud-fire. Raining. Breaking windows. Quaking the pavement.

Stoppe ut som en dum dum! Stop like a dumb dumb!

Je te plumerai le nez
Je te plumerai le nez

 

 

 

All is dark now.

Mother’s womb.

Itching and tight.

Burlap tomb. Rough and quiet. The yelling, the screaming stopped–calling of the birds, Napoleon’s winged horse hushed. Muffled words of the French too quiet to be understood or cared about.

Thumb suckling.

Tossing to the ground. Six feet stomach wrench and thud—roll on earthen wonder. Stop. Sharp sputter. Spilling of the soil. More and more. Spading of dirt, metal to small rocks, shuffling of feet.

Home.

 

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