Author: Franklyn Monk

Poet. Geek. Science fiction aficionado. General freak. Get social with me: Facebook| Twitter | Other

Communion

Introduction

Dronecast Episode 19
[Download: audio]

Main Content

“Stop! You must curtail your bizarre behavior,”
says the man with the stick,
“You really must,” he says
adjusting his hat.

But, he’s not talking to me,
he’s talking to the creature we become—
in the stretch back to the first realm.

“Adjust behavior and commiserate elsewhere,”
says the fat man
“You really must,” he says
poking the creature’s chest.

The creature, call us Communion,
howls indignant turns back to the wall—
string dangling from our slippery hands.

“Non-compliance is unacceptable,”
shouts the rigid man,
“Unacceptable and you must stop,” he shouts
and we pay em no mind

We are disconnected from that world,
there is only blood here and glue and string—
this creation nothing else.

Poem | Podcast

Episode Link | Archive Item | YouTube

Send More Agony!

This entry is part 6 of 12 in the series Undrafted, February 2015

“Thanks for the bliss,
send more agony!”
the merry one cried
stumbling into place
along side the junkies
looking for their muse.

FINE

Afternoon meditation was going fine, FINE, underneath the shade of a massive gnarled  bois d’arc in a church lot, until this big black beetle thing started gnawing at my ankle.
I ignored it as long as possible, I’ve sat through fire ant attacks, whatever, but eventually gave in, looked down, and jumped the fuck to my feet. It was ugly and it hurt.
And it’s over.

Farewell

This ended up being my farewell message to the cast and crew of the Red Dirt production of the Laramie Project.

I’m mostly all packed, and completely exhausted. Gonna take a nap before I decide when to leave. Whatever the decision, I’ll be gone soon. It’s been intense and I miss you already.

This is quite a high to come down from, I guess you guys know how to do it. I certainly don’t.

I feel like a naive kid that was pressured into shooting up, developed a taste for it, and then the pusher vanished.

I’m curled up shaking in the corner trying not to vomit every time my body clenches and spasms and shakes. Stinging sweat pouring into my eyes, mixing with tears and snot and need.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive y’all. Putting me through this. Making me care. Making me feel pain and anger and joy.

Or Maybe It Wouldn’t Be

You!
No, not you, sit down,
I have other plans for you.
They are long, far-ranging,
and complicated.
You!
On your feet,
You’re slipping and you’re slow.
But you’re perceptive,
you pretend not to but
you pay attention,
Like when I answer without rancor
or pretense of moral outrage,
from having judged, and balanced needs
against best probable outcomes,
Direct and honest like instinct.
I saw you get that,
That’s what I fancy about you.
I’m not out to fuck you,
in any sense of the word,
that would be disastrous,
in any sense of the word.