Why Not

"Is it really you?"

A brown hierarchy of construction evacuates every single being except for a child who stares into the darkness of a triangular portion without lit stained glass to view the possibilities.

"Ssshhh.....he's attempting to communicate."

Little one pours wine from the communion blood of Jesus into a gold plated flute adorned with a black cross; the gulp sound astonishes us both.

"He's amazing..."

"I don't know if that is the proper word. He's drunk...."

Running around the pews is a tipsy pair of school shorts with suspenders reciting Edgar Allan Poe; his chosen exerts are quoted from The Raven.

"Nevermore!"

"Shall we intervene..."

"As apparitions we are with little entertainment."

"We shall not intervene."

"Nameless here for evermore!"

My ghastly twin knocks on the podium with an object found on the floor.

"I believe that is his slingshot."

"I wonder who he pelts."

This child must be gifted with a present from devilish ghouls; he seems to understand our inquiries with the contribution of nimble speech.

"The preacher's ass..."

I sincerely missed him; our companionship is the transcendentalism of theoretical manhood.

"I enjoy being with you."

"As do I..."

"We must not tell a soul."

"They already know..."

"Dearest me..."

"You are dear to me."

We watch a prostitute den located within an exclusive restaurant which caters to men nameless of political deviance; these are picky customers for a slim feast.

"Yeah well the old hag won't give a damn if I get me wig tuft every full moon! She's too busy sorting out me mess I left on the desk, finances damned as hell...."

"Aw shut your trap we're going to give you a good time! Just relax...."

I suppose if we had digestive systems these would be a funk of technicalities; we knew of such happenings without direct experience, now sensed with an extra cognitive mechanism we confirm our worst misery to be continuing with every hint we gather for the completion of our demise.

"I miss her...."

"I miss yours...."

"The reason I come...."

"Same for me as well."

"Suppose we never see them again."

"We will in our dreams."

"I do not want to dream anymore."

"Nor do I but we must to achieve our goal."

"My goal is you."

"For me is you however for us to attain this achievement of unified experience we must complete that which we left incomplete."

"Then we are incomplete."

"Yes...."

Two shattered mirrors gesture encounters of sorrow every sore we tend; the shards cut our fingers while we search for the geometric shapes of our image to contort a person. We abandon the hunt for surrender of mischief; we are no longer amused by our living subjects.

"Your hand is a cool notion; can you put it on my forehead. I am in a spell of anguish."

"I shall if you put yours to the back of mine; I am feverish."

"Fuck's sake my feet are swollen from that last walk."

"My belly is growling; the thought of food makes me slightly ill at the moment."

Our reflection is without perception; the people we see are sorted amongst a hazy description. This is the persistence of our crankiness as we lament past lives.

"At least I may bitch in your presence. I cannot do that with anyone else."

"Yes you are the only one I desire to witness a dying pigeon."

We are unwanted guests every residence we visit. Discovery is incidental of recovery while we come to a solemn agreement.

"They are out there...."

"We know this; we contributed to the offspring of an ego thus altered by our personal customization. We observed the process thoroughly from the white coat himself."

"Absolutely therefore we must act as we exist."

"Possession....."

"Yes...."

"Are we demons?"

"Bloody hell why not?"

Our laughter defies legitimacy of sound.