Boundless freedom concealed behind a thin paper mesh

the strange elusive nature of being in eight words

the expansive hedge maze is harder to navigate than

the pamphlet will tell you.. and more perplexing still

it neglects to mention the tourists, who number in the thousands

that go missing there every year..


It would be better advice, for the easily disoriented

to suggest an indoor vacation.. however

that would be unfair, for far more horrible things have happened

in quiet living rooms over a cigarette, than in any horror film

against which one could compare


There are some VIP’s, I have heard, that own entire estates

founded invisibly atop the maze’s high leafy walls, I pray

for these to merely be rumors.. because if so, then far

more diabolical whisperings have spread in

quiet dining rooms and among officers, than can be summarized

here, under the present circumstances.






over yonder a folded paper king reigns over a small mountain. He eats tarantulas
frequently in the garden house. yes there, take another look.

a house full of exotic plants fornicate
in close proximity to my deep shining horizontal black acid bath
are you awake yet?

well of course not, he never even heard of below sea level
he believed that the sea was sky fabricated
from millions of samples
gathered whenever azaleas flushed
another opulent immaculate disposable grand crystalline toilet

and did you know he also ate with candles?
lit ones, held them at arms length
melting his potatoes and noblemen, sometimes together
laughing slower as he grows larger
eunuchs strum one tamed harpsichord
with fat rare lobster fingers
reminding me of all open gates
now hurry up and drink it


no, I would rather beat you with his many hands ringed and sink away, far away from here
past the towers where gamy hounds and his rude white dukes
will never follow
past where fountains of floral traps and guarded dancers loot
below ant hills
past where the sky is loose and namelessness
wooded stands silhouetted
past where wilderness drank it’s self to shame
as would I should I remain silent


With as many blind owls as there are, that die in the cities that surround beyond, do hearts bleed there, but mine is coarse and melancholic as I wined the sundials and heat their lawns in winter

bath the massacres, beat the drum!

in time maybe, but your demand’s wear me.
consider the birth you suffered
when the grove and garden were not indoors?
consider the bad acting involved
in these absolving acts, mine and yours,
that nail us to the floor, furnace, and well

responses always overflow from the sides of my deep shining black oil lamp collecting on my thoughts

did you know the ceiling falls when it rains?
and that the back of his eyes project campaigns on the walls
in the hours that follow meals
there is a hole in the base of the tub
eunuchs strum one tamed harpsichord
with kind and gentle fingers
reminding me of all abandoned places

forward, forward, forward, forward

Its been too long since winding wind pillared
in the courtyard above everyones heads
leveling the world


Nick Heskes

Previous | Next