la mausoleum

Perfume loring, turning and hedged to the skulled moon. It was a death-sentence oneiric to the autumn. It was symbolic as the little boy put his dirty shoes on my guitar case (and I said nothing), I felt atrophy of either the red koi flowers or the moon


and I drowned to the moon herself
like a mannequin in the troughs
of asylum


I hated this place. I felt so empty, I only could remember the unbridled lust of leaving. It was a sway and a dance like corvid feathers that would fall, stretched to the bursting breast of the sea. We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time, and when oft I remembered madness, the sorrows went from my eyes. I withdrew to the fingernails under the crawling light of the moon’s disarray,

her womb shames me.

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Written for the prosery dVerse prompt: Write a story that includes the following line from that poem:  ‘We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’.


I somewhat reworked a prose piece I wrote last year called Perfume Loring. It tells the same story of my experience that I no longer enjoyed participating in a group band (thankfully, I never performed, I just rehearsed with them). I cherish some of the memories I had and it was an experience that I’m glad to reflect on, but it taxed me emotionally.