The Never Man: Forever

The grand madness feeds
gnawing at aspiration, chewing and biting bits
and wasting the rest, greasy pieces of fat
flicked away. So his head bangs a thunderous boom
shaking his mind like a bag of old nickels.
Maybe he's lost, looking for sanctuary in limbo
and there's no grace in hell.

He's colliding with variables of vintage wisdom,
finding hope in a cage, hints of honest care
that points toward The Way.
People calling out, shouting their hardened phrases
of semi-intellectual directives.
Misshapen glory-crushed impressions that curve
and crease and bend around the truth.

He's the Never-Man that never knew,
never understood the plan, cheapened religion
bought through a phony shake of hands
Walking a path without a clue, a hold
precarious at best, a brittle, mildewed rope
that will give way before long, forcing a long
way down.

Paths still sit at their zenith, waiting for walks
from mindless men that want to fill their heads with
need and truth, paths born for youth and their search
for never and nothing and forever and something
for wounds that cripple
or the itch of love, all, none
Never
a grand madness that feeds
into a spiraling pinch, them, never full
Forever.

The Never Man: Burn

(They paused, jests were made, his head swayed, tilting toward hers like he wanted a way in. Just let him come in and show you how it could/would/should be, possibly thinking…well he’s unworthy to even grace her presence, but his dreams show their souls touching like lovers on the silver screen. Draped casually on her couch, he was still confined to the dismal misfortune of being the one that follows the one before, so his possessive instinct bloomed and wilted simultaneously.)

Strange colors danced before his eyes like flames, and he was hypnotized by the moment, his admiration unrestrained. She was one with the fire, an image of heat and light and fantastic form warping itself through all four dimensions.

He lost himself, tangled in a web of time, gaining his love, losing his mind. He loved her or hated her or both or none. The flame was a ballerina and her dance was not done; his eyes were transfixed and he began to succumb.

He thought she said, “The Never-Man, never did, never can, he will wish to hold that which escapes his hand.”

He laughed like it was the finest joke, she must be playing with the words she spoke. The fire had a smile on her face; a look of satisfaction that doubled for shame and disgrace. But was it aimed at him, or something she fought inside? Surely it was something she was trying to hide.

He might have asked, “Why do you taunt me with this passionate flame? Why me? Why do you play this game?”

She who danced and burned with light, her colors so vibrant that they pulsed and throbbed with life, looked as if she formed the words: “You ask why I taunt, why I play this game, but you sit and watch and feed my flame? The Never-Man, never did, never can, thinks that dirt will not settle when he crosses the sands…”
At that he thought twice. “How could it be? To sit here and love her is all on me? A man with full vision but too blind to see, how I perceive and react is all on me.”

The Never-Man, who never cried, never ran, rose from the couch attempting to stand. The fire seemed brighter and her dance was insane, he could feel her heat growing but her rhythm had changed. He stood there for a moment, and she began to slow down, easing her tempo, quelling the sound. It was magic he dreamt or a vision he touched, either or both, it was too much. When she stopped his eyes met the flames in her own and they reached out to one another because they were both so alone. The Never-Man, never could understand as he put his hands in hers there was no burn to withstand. But the flames, the flames were like the sun as they embraced. They both burned bright as they danced with desire in that place. They burned through their lives in a fiery embrace.