#copoftespu ii

mount of tespu dreams in cop
cop wakes in basement
cctv camera corner
pieces of broken wall along solid walls.
water pipes, tail end of ropes still knotted to hooks in the ceiling

single candle burning

then light at the eastern wall
a hole in the wall
a chair in the hole
a young, blue / purple corpse in chair
tender and upright
long hair washed and clean
slit around her throat neatly sewn and healed
lips swen shut.
head lolling on a broken neck.
supple blue breasts.

dead teen voice in head of cop

“she is not one of G’RgH/s.
she is of night society.”

cop sees island in moonless head
nothing on island man made
several fresh graves.

cop asks body, “what is night society?”
body in head of cop says nothing.

 


 

time cycles
waiting
dead ends
zero witnesses
victim of mother to psychiatric

time cycles
like a sickened ray
wearing out the power
blue bound body beauty
creeping under skin of partner
partner locked intime cycles
wasting away on blank pages
other missing teen not found
mother sent to psychiatric

time cycles, fucking with our heads.

the two special agents have gone cold case on the girls.
my urge to vomit finally stopped today, the way the clock in the room, stopped.

maybe the second vic has died.

my partner has been forced to take leave. psychiatry will be busy.
she hasn’t spoken to me since i asked about night society, but i know she is here,
silent, beheading, behind me, above me, on the bed beside me.
i cannot see her but i can feel her,
especially the coldness,
the lack of breath on my neck
the warmth of her wrath in my gut.

i feel an urge to create a narrative for her.
here, in the dark, cigarettes and rain.
I feel an urge to crown her queen
head lolling broken neck
tape wrap gagged
sand in throat tunnel
body, yearning for a resting place.
i think of the island. the burial place.
“The forests of tespu,”
her voice.
there then gone.
i’m searching blind
mind thrown out into nocturne
grasping in the dark
her voice
gone.

time cycles
keeping us from sleep.

we drive out there in the night, in the rain, to her fathers house.
she’s an ice cold presence, a wind not moving, lightning in the distance with no thunder
sitting within me, near the heart, a guide to our destinations. something tells me this is night society.
something tells me the sisters of tespu have woken.
we drive out in the rain, smoking cigarettes, moving in time cycles.

 

 

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