Carousel of Fallen Angels

I: lost boy
not lost not really stayed put in nowhere
no one came to look for him
lost in dreams black insect fantasies and finally woken up
from dreams still heavy in his head like lead like tar
like the concrete sky above him
shoving down rain like penny nails

awoken uneasy sheets wet and twisted around him
cocooned a wet enveloping womb

sleeps out in the rain
bed behind a woodpile behind a barn of chipping green paint
splintered wood and leaf-choked rain gutters overflowing filth water

the rain
just seeps into everything
every grain crack skin bones marrow weighing down everything
with stagnant ruin water

with difficulty he raises his head from the sopping pillow
still weighted by dark labyrinth nightmares
only now starting to fade
head lolls covered by a molding canvas sack
a clown smile painted on
dried forever
even rain like razors will not chisel it off the burlap
chicken wire around his neck tightens

finally awakened by a song
that is hardly there
but enough to rouse him
a yellowing music with cracks and pops and grooves
with static at the end of the dial it transmits to him
makes his heart twist and turn
it sneaks between the rain drops

looks down at the side of his bed
the mud his slippers filled with rainwater
slips one on his foot
but a toad slumps out
fat and slick
crawls under the bed

hangs his head over the bed
clumps of toads slant-eyed bloated pulsing necks like sick hearts
croaking like rusty gears grumbling old men
carnival talkers with wet gravel in their throats

looks under his pillow
bag of spare change and a box cutter kept dry
picks it up with difficulty his sleeves so long
they reach to his knees
rises from the bed throws off lethargy and leaves it on his mattress
leaves the dreams on his pillow
(maybe someone else will lay here and take them)
the rain will no longer slow him
he follows the yellow song

Carousel of Fallen Angels (c) 2009 by Eric Asaris